The Avengers Plus Some
by Lady Viola Delesseps
Summary: A Series of Events Surrounding, During, and After the Events of the Movie, Involving Some Plot Changes, Alternate and Additional Characters, Original Sequel Material, and Lots of Drama, Based on the All-New Ideas and Crazy Acting/Impersonations of Two Sisters who Love Pretending to be Awesome People.
1. Goodbye, Peggy

_Her brown hair blew in front of her lovely face, obscuring it, a small piece sticking in her lipstick. Her pupils were tiny, her brows fierce. "You can't give me orders!"_

_"You bet I can! I'm a Captain!" Steve's voice shouted back..._

_"...This is why you were chosen. Because the strong man who has known power all his life may lose respect for that power, but a weak man knows the value of strength, and knows compassion..."_

_"Peggy – I'm gonna need a rain check on that dance." There was a long pause and Steve stared at the clouds surrounding his cockpit without really seeing them. Then her voice came, restrained, yet emotional._

_"Alright. A week next Saturday. At the Stork Club... Don't you dare be late, understood?"_

_"You know, I still don't know how to dance." Steve could imagine her smile through her tears in the communications room back at the base._

_"I'll show you." He thought he lost her, the pause was so great after that, but her voice came through once again, distorted by tears and static. "Just be there."_

_Steve took a deep breath and pulled his compass from his pocket, easily peeling off the tiny picture of Peggy cut from some official papers he had filched. The old piece of tape on the back was old and hardly worth anything; he propped it up in front of his altimeter and pulled the lever without removing his eyes from her face. _

_"We'll have the band play something slow. I'd hate to step on your –"_

Steve's eyes flew open, and he looked about him for a brief moment with blurry eyes, and then took in a deep breath. Slowly it dawned on him – he was alive. He was breathing. He could... move. He flexed his hand open and shut, and his eyes gradually focused on another figure in the room, which looked to be a hospital, or an observation unit, or a... prison.

The figure's back was to him, but he seemed busy, sorting various implements as quietly as he could onto a metal tray, checking a monitor, and then picking up a tiny device no bigger than a half a sandwich and beginning to press buttons on it.

Steve opened his mouth slightly and licked his lips, preparing to test his vocal chords. He began by clearing his throat, and shifting slightly on the bed. The figure turned, and smiled.

"Good to see you around. Did you come to at all earlier?"

Steve furrowed his brow and shook his head. "I tho –" He grimaced and cleared his throat. "I don't think so."

The man nodded. "Alright. We weren't sure, but we put you under for another couple of hours to finish our tests. You're really a walking miracle."

Steve closed his eyes and smiled. "We'll see about the walking part."

"I can't wait. Doctor Bruce Banner," the man said, advancing and offering his hand. Steve lifted his arm slowly to meet it and gave the doctor a fairly decent handshake.

"Good to meet you, Doctor. I'm Steve Ro–"

"We know." Bruce smiled again. "Captain America, right?"

"Sure. Who's we?" Steve asked, it finally dawning on him that he most likely was face to face with his rescuer, or a representative of a team who saved his life in some way he failed to remember...

"Long story. Story for when you're stronger. How do you feel?" Bruce asked, sitting on the edge of a nearby chair.

Steve grimaced. "Like I've been encased in ice for a century."

"Well, you're almost right. Do you want to sit up?" Bruce removed his glasses, and tucked them in his shirt pocket, rising, and grasping Steve's upper arm. The super-soldier looked at him.

"Can I _get_ up?"

"Let's start with sitting." Bruce chuckled, assisting Steve in pivoting so his legs dangled over the edge of the bed and his feet rested on the floor. For the first time, Steve caught sight of the clothes he was wearing; he was clad in pants the like of which he'd never seen, that ended at the knee, had elastic at the top, and tiny holes all over the slick-feeling fabric. Up top he wore a normal-feeling t-shirt and he wondered, his face growing hot, how in the world he had gotten out of his battered suit and into this attire.

"Where am I?" Steve wondered aloud, looking up to see Bruce tapping the surface of the half-a-sandwich-sized device, causing it to light up and emit a small dinging noise. Steve watched, fascinated.

"Currently, you are in the infirmary of what is called Stark Tower, in New York–"

"Stark Tower?" Steve asked incredulously. "You know Howard Stark?"

Bruce shook his head. "Not Howard. Tony. Tony Stark. He fully redid the plans that his father began, and is probably the most famous man of 2012."

Wait – _Twenty-twelve_? What are you talking about?"

Bruce took in his breath, and then exhaled, rubbing his face. "I'm so sorry. I was told to break it to you gently, but... I guess I'm just not good at that. That's the year."

"What?" Steve breathed, staring intently at Bruce. "That's – that's..."

"I know. Take your time. It's unbelievable to the rest of us too. I mean –" Banner chuckled sheepishly. "You look like a moviestar from the silent films. The hair..."

Steve idly ran a hand through his light hair, pushing it back from his brow, and finally burst out,

"What about the forties? The fifties? The sixties? The seventies? The eight-"

"Yeah, skip them all from the seventies onward. You didn't miss much."

"I missed them? You're saying I missed all of that, and now we're in a new millenium?"

Banner nodded. "Like I said, you're a walking miracle. A lot of things will have changed. It'll be quite the adjustment to make. I'm supposed to sort of, you know, look out for you for a while."

"Thanks," Steve murmured, his mind whirling. "Can I lay back down now?"

"Sure," Bruce replied, standing, and easing him back on the pillow. "Do you want anything to drink? Something to eat?"

"Does everyone still know what coffee is?" Steve said, rubbing his face.

"You bet, but I'd just recommend a glass of water for now, and see how your system takes it. Do you like ice?"

"Sure," Steve managed, and took a deep breath swallowing as Bruce left the room. "Twenty-twelve..." He whispered. "Goodbye, Peggy."


	2. Meet the Avengers

"Tony, you're going to wear out the floor," Pepper scolded for the tenth time, or at least so she thought. "Bruce is doing just what he's supposed to. It's just going to take time."

"Do you think he'll really be able to see me this evening?" Tony wheeled, and put the question to Agent Clint Barton who had just entered the room.

"Don't ask me, I was just coming to say would you knock it off, you're making everyone on the floor nervous with your impatience," he said wryly, giving him a half smile, and handing a file to Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Industries, and one of the century's most classy women. "Compliments of Banner."

"The Banner!" Tony made a dive for the file, but Pepper held it out of reach. "Not for you," she said, rising, and going over to the glass walls of the lounge that overlooked the N.Y.C. skyline. She perused it quickly, ignoring Tony's tirade which was vocalized at Clint, but really directed toward Pepper about whose name was even on this tower, whose name was the company's anyway, who was instigating this experiment etc. etc. etc.

"Unbelievable," Pepper shook her head, and turning, walked out of the room, her heels making a sharp clip-clip-clip on the polished floors.

"Really," Tony sighed.

"Just relax. You're going to give Pepper a heart attack some day."

"Already tried. It didn't work," Stark shrugged, and as Clint left the room after Pepper, called to his AI, "JARVIS?"

"Yes, sir?" the automated voice with its crisp English accent returned.

"Give me the update on Project Snow-Cap."

"Doctor Banner is currently engaged in a quiet conversation with the patient, and the patient is consuming a glass of water and a few plain crackers."

"Thank you, JARVIS," Tony returned, and flopped back onto the couch. "Just a few more hours."

"So, does anyone feel like explaining what is going on?" Natasha Romanov said, slamming down the automatic pistol she was meticulously cleaning, and turning as Clint marched into the room. Thor, the mighty god of thunder turned from where he had been perusing a book in a large chair. It was a hardback copy of _Norse Myths and Legends_ – he ignored Tony when he said that they had a lot in common with each other: they both liked to read what the press said about them. The old stories fascinated him, and made him feel closer to his home world. True, he wished he had followed more after his more studious brother when it came to reading, but now, he was seeking amusement, not knowledge. Most of the tales were familiar already, the characters household names if not acquaintances and close friends.

"Yes, what is the situation?"

"Basically, Tony's about to explode, and Banner's with him right now. I bet Pepper is checking up on the situation."

"So he's thawed?" Natasha said, raising her eyebrows.

"Completely. Vital signs normal. I'll bet he's in a bit of culture shock, though."

"This is truly remarkable," Thor said. "A man encased in the icy grip of Midgard's oceans for seventy years, emerging unharmed and fully functional. I am eager to make his acquaintance."

"Welcome to the club," Natasha said, folding her arms. "So – Captain America, right? This is real."

"Of course it's real," muttered Clint, rifling through the pillows on the sofa before tossing them all aside so he could take a seat. Thor's brother Loki, a tall, lanky figure, entered the room nearly silently and caused everyone to jump – even the pair of master assassins seated on the sofa – when he began to speak.

"If this is really his first experience with humans since your year Nineteen-hundred-forty then I can't help but be surprised if he forms the opinion that the world is a very strange place."

"Not surprising, if you're in it, Brother," Thor laughed, and thumped him on the back. "I have not yet seen you this morning."

"I was reading."

"As was I."

"More on how to talk like Romeo and Juliet?" They all turned, and beheld Tony Stark standing in the doorway.

"Morning, Greenjeans," he tipped his forelock to Loki, and grinned at the rest of the group. "Exciting, isn't it?" He flopped back on the couch and made a show of throwing his arm around Natasha, who promptly scooted away, much to Clint's amusement.

"It's eternally amusing to me what a small occurrence it takes to blow humans' minds," Loki said, chuckling, and lacing his fingers together. "No offense, of course."

Natasha bristled, "Small occurrence? I suppose this sort of thing happens every day in Asgard."

"Now, Lady Natasha, no need to rise in arms. I would have thought you knew when my brother was in a gaming mood by now." Thor folded his arms. Loki bowed gravely.

"Of course – I was teasing. No offense intended."

"I was startin' to say," Tony cut in. "You would not believe the stuff my dad told me about this guy. Apparently he's the cat's meow. Or was, in his day. I can't wait to meet the guy."

"Well, good news is you won't have to." The group of superheroes turned to see Dr. Banner standing in the doorway, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his slacks, Pepper behind him. Tony launched up from the couch.

"Me first?"

"Unless someone else can possibly be more impatient than Stark?" Banner lifted his brows, and viewing the less-than-enthusiastic response from the rest of the group, Banner nodded. "Alright. But there are a few things you should know..." Their voices faded as they hurried down the corridor, and as soon as they were out of earshot, Loki shook his head.

"It must be rather a disappointment. Searching for the Tesseract, and all they found was a frozen soldier..."

"That's not really fair," Clint pointed out. "No matter how great you were, any human's abilities would pale in comparison to the Tesseract. It's the prize of all prizes, I guess."

"I guess," Loki echoed. "The prize of all prizes..." He smiled to himself, and only Natasha heard him whisper, "Pale in comparison indeed."


	3. Tony Stark

"Come in," Steve said, responding to the knock on the door to his room. He caught a brief glimpse of the bright lights without as the door opened, but the figure that entered quickly swung it shut behind him and the room was again plunged into dimness. Stark made his way unceremoniously in and plopped down in the chair.

"Gosh, they really got you strung up," he said, goggling at all the wires to which Steve was still attached. Then he stuck out his hand.

"Tony Stark, also known as Iron Man," he said quickly, grinning at the super-soldier's grip when he returned the gesture.

"Steve Rogers, also known as, Cap –"

"Captain America!" Tony burst out. "The original. The only."

"...I guess," Steve finished, already a bit breathless at this fellow's conversation pace.

"I've heard a lot about you," Stark said off-handedly, toying with the implements at his side. "I guess you're pretty famous, or you were. I don't know about now. The world's getting smaller with technology, so we'll find out soon enough. You know, I still can't believe that you are the guy my dad never shut up about. They find you carefully preserved in the Atlantic – for all we know, it could have been your fault the Titanic sank –"

"The Titanic?" Steve said in confusion. "Am I missing something? I was born the decade the R.M.S. Titanic sank, but if you're talking about something else, then –"

"Exactly, probably your fault, pitch the calculations. I'm a genius, but I hate math. Isn't that bizarre? I'm too good at the stuff nobody can ever master and I mess up on all the easy stuff. That's what I keep Pepper around for. She's –"

Steve's head was spinning, and he guessed he must have looked like it, because Tony stopped, and asked, "Am I wearing you out? Bruce said for me not to wear you out. I sometimes have that effect on people."

"No, not at all – I mean, yes – yes, you kind of are..." Steve stammered, trying to remain polite, yet truthful, at the same time trying to ignore the innate annoyance and lack of respect he immediately felt for this self-important lunatic. He was like Howard, only exponentially worse...

"Maybe you could tell me about your dad. I knew him, and that's something we could talk about together. I don't think it would really work for you to try and catch me up on 70 years of world history in twenty minutes. I knew Howard Stark as a friend, a co-worker, and a –"

"A rival?" Tony's eyebrows shot up. Steve gripped the edge of the bed.

"What?"

"A rival. Didn't you fall for my mom too? I mean, she eventually picked my dad, but still-"

"Don't you start that with me, son," the Captain muttered. "If you want to know the truth you'd better shut your mouth and open your ears. I once heard that you can't run them both at the same time, they cancel each other."

"Okay, so, you're saying that my mom didn't love my dad? That she just went and –"

"I didn't say anything like that."

"Okay, so, Stark family history night, gather 'round kiddies, and you'll hear a tale of love, betrayal, genius and madness!" Tony chirped.

"What happened to him?" Steve managed.

"Killed. Car wreck. I was just a little tyke. Don't remember much, he was probably a lousy dad. Always busy with something or other. Mom was better. She taught me to play the piano."

"Peggy played the piano?" Steve's eyes widened. "I never knew that. So –" He bit his lip, disliking this Tony more and more with each passing moment. "What happened to... her?"

"Same. They both went out for a drive one night, next thing I knew I was the only Stark of Stark Industries. I don't actually remember them that much, but," he stood up, switching on the bedside lamp and fishing in his pocket, "I've had these all these years, and that's how I picture them in my head now."

Steve blinked in the bright light as he was handed a crumpled old photo of a young Howard Stark, sporting a carefully-trimmed dark mustache, and holding in his hands a pair of safety goggles. It was an informal picture, and it suited the Stark that Steve remembered. Why – he had been in that room countless times with him...

"Wow," he said, handing it back to Tony. "That's Stark alright."

"I'm Stark too," Tony said carelessly, and for the first time, Steve got a good look at him. The resemblance was unmistakeable – uncomfortably so. The eyes, brow, hair, general coloring were completely Howard, but there was something about the nose... and the high fine cheekbones, and the mouth that were not so Howard, more like...

"You oughtta see the other one," Tony interrupted Steve's musings. "The one of Mom. It kills me every time. The look back then! The hair, the lipstick -"

"Hey," Steve glared. "Watch it – I loved your mother."

"Sorry. Here it is." Steve held his breath, and continued to hold it, even after he realized that this was not the same picture he had of Peggy Carter. He felt foolish realizing it – as if there would only be one picture of her in all the world – but somehow he had hoped it would be the same one. It would give his shifting world a little bit of solidarity to see a familiar face throughout the ages.

But this picture was different. If she had looked beautiful in her S.S.R. uniform, then this was absolutely stunning. One look at it showed it was definitely post-Stark. It wasn't that he could never imagine Peggy looking this way before or during the war – that was definitely not it, there was no way he could forget that red dress she had showed up in one night at the Stork Club – it was her face. The dress was nice – a pale in color, with a springy-cut to the neck, short sleeves the flowed over the tops of her arms, and a tidy belted waistband. But in spite of the cheeky smile she wore he could see it in the corners of her mouth: the dents without the dimples, the slight frozen aspect of her face... Steve shook his head. He was imagining. Likely the photographer just had her holding the pose for too long. But the eyes – they looked far-off, and, dare he say... wistful? Tony's snicker interrupted his thoughts once again.

"Save it for the bedroom, Rogers," he joked. "Your face is just killing me."

Steve thrust the picture back at him, and shut his eyes for a brief moment, trying to decide whether to imprint the picture into his memory or erase it. "Could you send Bruce in? I have a question, and then I need a rest," Steve said, slowly easing himself back.

"I can probably answer."

"You probably can't."

"I probably can," Tony insisted. "I'm a clinically rated genius, and I have a real good knowledge of science that I can and will prove."

"Never mind," Steve muttered. "Are you aware of my previous relationship with your – parents?"

"Nope, not at all." Tony began pacing back and forth, twiddling his fingers behind his back. "You gonna tell me?"

"If you want to hear."

"I'm dying of curiosity."

"Would you stop with the dying and killing references?" Steve exploded, forgetting gentlemanly behavior and growing genuinely upset. "You really ought to have a little sensitivity. It's not that I can't stand you, although I nearly can't, but around anybody - least of all a soldier who has seen dying and killing enough to haunt him all his normal days, let alone all the other days God for some reason decided to give him - it's downright heartless to talk like that. You don't know. Somebody could have really died recently, or been killed, or they could still think about it every day without you making jokes like you don't know anything about it!"

Tony had stopped pacing and stood stock still as Steve ranted, and when he finally broke off, remained silent – an extremely rare occurrence – until Pepper and Banner hurried into the room.

"What's going on?" Pepper demanded, looking at Tony like he was automatically to blame.

"Nothing," Stark muttered, and pushed past her and the doctor to stalk down the hall. Pepper turned and watched him go, and after a long look exchanged with Banner, set off to follow him.

Bruce crossed the room, switched off the lamp and inquired, "What happened? I told him not to upset you."

"It was my fault," Steve sighed, running a hand over his face. "I'd like to be left alone for a while, if you don't mind."

Bruce took a look at the monitor on the wall and silently began removing the many wires and tubes attached to Steve's arms, neck, and chest. "Alright," he said at last. "If something happens, just call. The AI is called JARVIS – it will contact me if you decide you need anything."

"Thanks, Bruce," Steve managed, as the doctor calmly left the room. How that guy and that lady lived with Stark without getting a nervous breakdown was beyond him. How Peggy... he banished that train of thoughts from his head, and with a soldier's promptitude, forced himself into sleep.


	4. Strike Team Delta

Clint heard her coming, but he knew there was no sense in telling her so. It wasn't that she was trying to sneak up on him and he let her – nothing like that – it was a tacit understanding, a silent pact, an inner feeling of awareness of the other person born of years of high-peril work together, and perhaps something more...

"Hey, Tasha," he said, saying the nickname carelessly, but mentally savoring it like every other time he said it, knowing that he was the only one of the six – now seven, counting the thawed soldier – allowed to call her that without receiving a knife somewhere uncomfortable.

"Hey, Barton." His back was to her as he bent over his work in the floor – a couple trick arrows he was fitting with a miniaturized version of something similar to an arc reactor; he and Tony had been working on developing an improvement over his original battery-operated C.F. system-hacking arrow.

"Have you ever heard of such a thing as a table?" she inquired dryly, continuing to focus on the view of his back as he worked. "It's actually kind of nice, and not too expensive."

Clint grunted as he pulled a wire tight. "Yeah, heard of them once a long time ago, decided I wasn't really interested in checking them out. Not my kind of thing."

"You know you look like a nut case down there when most normal people work at tables."

"I'm not doing this for looks. The floor works better for me."

They sat in silence for a long moment, until Natasha finally said, "So, what do you think of this?"

"This is nice. This is also sometimes kind of strange. Actually, this is somewhat nebulous – care to elaborate?"

She broke into a grin, and Clint turned in time to see it. "Cap. He's kind of nice."

"Only three months out of the ocean – I'd say he's doing pretty well. He is nice. Old-fashioned... but –"

"He won't stop calling me ma'am."

"There." Clint sat back and held the tip up to eye level, examining the tiny area where it did not attach flush to the shaft, and pulling out a fine file and setting to work on it, replying, "It's funny."

"Not to me."

"He's used to treating ladies differently."

"I'm _not_ a lady," glared Natasha.

"Yeah, we know," Clint drawled. He blew the dust off the file and examined his arrow once again. "This should do." He stood up, and pulled Natasha to her feet as well. "I'm going to go out and test this."

"At three a.m.? Everyone will wonder what in the world you're doing awake at this hour." Natasha crossed her arms.

"I might ask the same of you," Clint grinned. "You wanna come?"

She shook her head, her bright red hair falling in front of her face and obscuring it from view. "I'm going to try and get some shut-eye."

"Good luck," he said, and he wasn't joking. He had shared a room with Natasha since the Budapest incident, when they decided for both their safeties to avoid going solo. They were partners for a reason. Natasha insisted it didn't go beyond business, but sometimes Clint wasn't so sure. She told him things she never told anyone else, and he did the same for her. Her nightmares every night and her horrible insomnia had not been lost upon him – regularly she would wake up breathing heavily, drenched in a cold sweat, psychological baggage coming back to haunt her from her experiences in the infamous Red Room, or worse. Clint would rub her back and talk to her about something random until she was calmer, and although she never said thank you, he knew she appreciated him.

He felt the same way for her. He didn't trust anyone, except her. A tumultuous, abusive childhood, coupled with circus life and constant pranks, danger, and foolery had not made him keen on letting just anyone into his heart. It happened once, with Mockingbird, but that had ended in a disaster of his own making, and he would just as soon forget. But like it or not, he couldn't. Natasha knew. And Natasha understood. Maybe that's what was so special. She really truly understood what it was like to be where he was, and probably always would be.

As much as Natasha valued her friendship with Clint, she hated it when people thought there was something more to their relationship. And it seemed as if she was fated to explain it a million times a day to the team, mostly just to Stark with his constant antagonism, and Thor, with his innocent assumptions. Loki was the only one who didn't question them, but Loki actually never said much. She knew the principles of who Loki was from his past actions, and from Thor's testimonies. He was the god of manipulation, trickery, and mischief, and she knew he craved the power of the Tesseract. That was no secret – no secret to a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, that is. They needed him for his intensity, his abilities, his silver tongue, and his brilliant mind. But beyond sheer facts, she just didn't get that guy.

There he was, standing alone by the glass windows of one of the conference rooms, silently watching the nightlife of New York City go on below him. In his hand was clenched something small and slender silhouetted against the back-lighting, and without knowing why she did it, Natasha entered the conference room, and silently approached.

Loki's glance didn't waver in her direction, but a small smile played at the corners of his mouth.

"It is quite a sight, is it not." He spoke in a low voice. "I can't get used to it. I'm really quite lucky to be here, and I know it."

"Well, good," Natasha responded, sounding like an absolute wet-blanket, but not really caring. "Surprised to hear that coming from you."

"Why?" He turned and looked at her and Natasha noted for the first time the intensity of his gaze and the constant smile he seemed to be hiding somewhere between his eyes and his chin. "Do you really think I am that much of a monster?"

"I don't really know, now, do I," she said in a patronizing tone. "I make a point of not getting into other people's business."

"Now, I'm surprised to hear that coming from you," he mocked."Is it just me, or did you use to be a master spy, assassin, and double agent?"

"It's just you. I still am all those things. I just know when to pry, and when to walk away." She turned on her heel and began to stride out of the room, but suddenly he was at her elbow, a hand on her arm. His touch was cool – cold, almost, but not unpleasant.

"Let go of me," she said evenly. "Unless you really know what you are doing."

"I have no idea," Loki murmured. "But I thought you would."

"I don't know what you're talking about. Do you want something?" Natasha was beginning to be irritated. "What do you want?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." Loki dropped his head, and drew a finger down the end of his nose. "Why should anyone believe me anyway."

"True. Out with it." Natasha put her hands on her hips. "Unless you'd rather just say goodnight here and call it quits. I've got nothing over you. Does it matter if I believe you or not?"

"There's nothing I want from you," he said in a low voice.

She snapped, "Don't believe you."

"Fine. I don't either."

Natasha furrowed her brow. "Quit being an idiot. You sound like Stark."

"To my knowledge I never was an idiot. I've always considered myself rather brilliant," Loki smirked. "At least that's the idea."

"Now you really sound like Stark."

Loki chuckled. "That was quite unintentional, believe me. Goodnight, Natasha." He swept past her and in a moment disappeared in the elevator, hesitating, and then pressing the button to the sleeping chambers floor.

"Goodnight," she said in his wake, looking at the ground, and slowly unclenching her fists, hardly realizing when she had begun to clench them in the first place.


	5. Loki and Natasha

As the elevator raced up, beeping intermittently as it passed floor after floor, the beeps growing closer and closer together and then gradually slowing, Loki stood motionless with his arms folded across his chest, contemplating the exchange between them, and what sort of lasting effects it might have. True, she seemed to have no heart, but he knew better than that. Yes, indeed. After all, wasn't that what everyone said about him? That all he cared about was his goals – power, rulership, skill, absolute supremacy. He liked a woman with a bit of spirit. Natasha Romanov had more than a bit, but it was nothing Loki wasn't sure he could conquer, being the master of magic and a first-class manipulator.

Natasha shifted her weight from foot to foot, watching the board light up above the elevator entrance, registering that it had unloaded its cargo at last and begun its descent. _At least I didn't have to stand here and argue with someone like Thor or Cap to get them to shut their faces about the 'ladies first' tripe,_ she thought, wondering when the word "tripe" had entered her vocabulary anyway. Probably when the Asgardians came around talking like the Knights of the Round Table. It was certainly an improvement over Tony Stark's vocabulary at any rate.

She entered the elevator and stabbed the correct button, closing her eyes as she ascended. _Bozhe mo__ĭ, I'm tired, _she thought. The moment the doors opened, she stalked out into the corridor, pass-coded her door, and entered, slamming it behind her, and flopping, fully dressed, onto the bed. Within moments, her eyes fell shut, and she was asleep.

A nearly imperceptible breeze swept through the room, and Natasha stirred slightly, but merely brushed a stray wave of hair away from her face and continued to slumber. The rising and falling of her chest was even and slow, and another puff of cool air eddied among the deep red waves of her hair as the sound of quiet breathing gradually was heard. Loki materialized with a swift movement, but only for a moment before vanishing again, his soft footfalls and careful breathing alone proclaiming his presence in the room. He slowly approached where she lay and lifted a finger to trace the branching tiny blue veins on the underside of her pale wrist when suddenly Natasha sat bolt upright, grabbed her automatic and fired a volley of shots about the room.

Loki remained motionless where he stood and shut his eyes, preparing to transport himself from the room, when the door emitted a click and began to open. Now on her feet, Natasha aimed for the gradually widening crack and hissed, "Stop right there."

"Nat, it's me, Clint."

"Clint." She sighed, and lowered her gun, slipping the safety back on and stowing it under her pillow. "I thought I changed my pass-code."

"You did. What's going on? I heard shots."

"Nothing." He sat down on the edge of her bed, and Loki stepped slowly away from the scene, leaning against the wall, and, secure in his invisibility, dared to watch a moment longer, his eyes narrowed.

"Nothing." Clint flopped back, as Natasha sat next to him, staring straight ahead into the darkness. "You were shooting at nothing. Well, I can believe that. What did you _think _you were shooting at?" He sat up, and leaned his elbows on his knees, rubbing a hand over his face. "Nightmares?"

"You know better than to make fun of those."

"I don't know how bad they get. All I know is what I heard when we used to bunk together. And it didn't sound like something to make fun of."

"Just go back to bed, Barton," Natasha sighed, flopping back in her turn. "I thought you were out, anyway."

"Just got back. Lucky thing, too, just in case you needed me."

"How many times have I told you to stop looking out for me?"

Clint sighed. "A bunch. But it doesn't stop me from doing it. Admit it, you secretly like it."

Loki had seen enough. In a moment he opened his eyes and found himself in his own chamber, which was on the same floor, down the hall. After waving a hand before the lock mechanism to enchant it against intrusion, he paced quickly for a moment or two, and then began to hurriedly remove his outerwear for sleep. When he was down to a simple tunic he stepped out of his boots and slid into bed, a small line appearing between his brows.

_You can do this,_ he told himself. Turning onto his side and pushing his hand up underneath his pillow, Loki shut his eyes and prepared for sleep. Amongst the various demons that plagued the god of mischief's slumbers, one reigned triumphant – a figure clad in black with hair the color of fire, blazing eyes, and some sort of weapon pointed at everyone around her... everyone but him.

In the morning Loki emerged from showering with a towel tucked about his waist and carefully parted his dark hair before the mirror, slicking it down with a comb and tucking it behind his ears. He dressed with especial care and stood a long moment staring into nothingness it seemed, but in reality he was sounding out the situation in the other rooms of Stark Tower and taking inventory of the team's various thoughts and actions. Not too bad for a Saturday morning, he thought.

Opening the door to his room, he resisted the urge to smile at his timing. Striding down the hallway ahead of him was the fearsome Black Widow herself, barefoot, clad in gray sweatpants and a black tshirt, and carrying a pair of athletic shoes.

"Up so early?" Loki said, pitching his voice just loud enough for her to hear. She turned. Without a bit of makeup on, she looked decidedly younger, but nonetheless beautiful. _And still potentially fatal,_ Loki reminded himself. She stood in one place and allowed him to overtake her and they made their way toward the gym together.

"I might ask the same of you," she said at last.

"I never sleep late," admitted Loki, giving her a quick smile. "The sun is up, so no reason why I shouldn't be as well."

"Exactly what I think. Although I can't say I vanish when the moon rises."

"A bit nocturnal, then too?" Loki cocked a brow and received a brief smile for his efforts.

"More than a bit. I generally run on about four hours of sleep per night."

Loki shook his head. "Well, you beat me, then. And Thor thinks I am the crazy one."

"We're all crazy here," Natasha said, pushing open the glass door to the workout room, and holding it open for Loki to follow. "Coming in?"

"I don't mind," Loki said, ducking under her arm and catching a whiff of the scent of her soap – a foreign unnameable smell, that carried with it connotations of winter, burning sun, and cleanliness.

"Well, you'd better get to work, then. You can be here, and we can chat, but I hate people standing around talking to me and watching me work out," Natasha said curtly.

"Oh, well I didn't really dress for –"

"Then go do what you did dress for. I'll be done in an hour and a half if you want breakfast. I've got a couple of questions for you anyway."

"Questions?" Loki's eyebrows lifted. "Might I ask to what they pertain?"

"You can ask, but that doesn't mean I'll answer," Natasha replied, finishing taping her hands and aiming a few solid hits at the punching bag. Loki shook his head and retreated.

"I actually need to talk to Thor." Then the door swung shut behind him, and Natasha stopped her warm up long enough to watch him go, but the moment he looked back over his shoulder, she commenced her vicious sparring and did not stop until she had counted a hundred hits. She wasn't surprised when she looked up and saw that he was gone.


	6. Up to No Good

Thor laughed loudly as he read the tiny note taped to the toaster lettered in Pepper's tidy writing. Although she had Steve in mind when she made all the instructions on how to operate the kitchen appliances, Thor used them as well, although he always laughed at how detailed they were. This one read:

1) Bread is in the fridge. Make sure to seal the bag tightly when you're done.

2) Fill all four slots. Really. Don't run it with just one or two.

3) The screen on the left of the toaster (lever side) determines done-ness. Use the arrow buttons to select 1, 2, or 3.

4) Select TOAST (the green button) and press the lever down until it clicks.

5) If you need your toast to pop up for some reason before it is done, push the red button with the X on it. Don't pull up on the lever, it will break (Tony tried it).

6) Remove your toast with your hands or a wooden implement (top drawer on the right next to the fridge). Do not use a knife! Classic, but I thought I'd say it just in case. Thor could probably take the lightning, but I wouldn't try it, Captain.

7) Enjoy!

"Lady Pepper is truly a most organized woman," he chuckled, turning when someone cleared their throat softly. Loki had entered the kitchen and lingered in the doorway like an unwelcome street urchin.

"Good morning, brother." Thor greeted, grinning, and turning back to his breakfast preparations. "How did you sleep?"

"Really, I don't know why you always ask that when you know the answer very well," Loki returned, striding across the room, and folding his hands behind his back as he looked out the window.

"Suit yourself then. Who else is awake?"

"I saw Lady Natasha training a moment ago, but I didn't encounter anyone else." Thor noticed that he said whom he encountered, not what he knew, but he didn't push it. His brother's powers were his own concern.

"Does she let you call her Lady Natasha?" Thor inquired, layering his four pieces of toast with peanut butter and building a structure impressive-enough to rival Stark Tower.

"I haven't actually called her that to her face," Loki admitted, helping himself to a piece of fruit, and then returning to the window, declining Thor's gesture for him to be seated and partake with him.

"The Midgardian's food is strange, but very delicious," Thor commented, asking, "Did I ever tell you the story of the drink that I once –"

"About Lady Natasha," Lok interrupted. Thor swallowed, and nodded.

"Something concerns you?"

Loki scoffed. "She said she has questions for me. I wonder what that means. Do you think she suspects me of trying to steal the Tesseract like everyone else does?"

"If she did, I should not be surprised. 'Tis no secret why you're here, you know."

"Did it ever occur to you that I might resent everyone always thinking I am up to no good? Did it ever occur to you to ask me what I might be here for?" Loki hissed, turning, and advancing on his brother. "Oh no, it's always 'Loki is up to his mischief again,' and 'Loki can't be trusted because once he made a mistake!"

He slammed his hand down onto the table top, making Thor's breakfast jump, and Thor look at him evenly, replying, "You may deceive others, but you can't deceive me."

He would have continued, but Loki cut him off. "Oh yes? And what makes you say that, pray?"

"There have been times when I have been mistaken, brother, but–"

"And there have been times when I have been mistaken!" Loki nearly screamed. His eyes blazing, he locked his gaze on Thor and whispered, "And I'm not your brother."

"I love you like a brother. I think of you as a –"

"That doesn't make it true!" Loki spat. "One day, you'll just have to face the facts,_ half-brother_."

Thor's eyes gleamed ice blue. "You are in a foul temper this morning, Loki. Did you really have something you needed with me, or have you just come to spoil my meal?"

Loki emitted an enraged sound from deep in his throat and wheeled, stalking out of the room, calling over his shoulder, "No, I just come around to spoil everything! That's what I'm here for, it is not?"

Thor sighed, and finished his food in silence, the room uncomfortably still, and ringing with Loki's shouted words. He knew that it might not be him, but he wished there was someone who could understand Loki besides Frigga. His mother had always been his only confidante, his anchor, his solace, and his guidance. Thor had taken more to his father. But still... He may not trust him, but everyone ought be given a chance to explain himself.

In the middle of his reverie, Steve Rogers entered the room. "Morning, Thor," he said, pouring himself a glass of orange juice, and sitting down opposite him. He looked as if he had just come from training, clad in a sweaty t-shirt and loose-fitting gym pants. He took a drink of the juice and inhaled a deep breath.

"That's good," he said, grinning, and setting it on a paper napkin. "Something the matter?"

"My brother is in a foul mood this morning." Thor rose and deposited his plate in the sink.

"Is that unusual?" Steve asked with a sideways quirk of his mouth. His back to Steve, Thor braced a hand on either side of the counter and leaned forward, allowing his head to droop for a brief moment. Then he straightened, pushing his light hair out of his face.

"No, it's not unusual," he replied.

"What's not unusual?" Steve turned, and knew the morning had officially begun. Tony padded into the kitchen in a bathrobe, reeking of cologne, his thick hair mussed wildly. He helped himself to a cup of piping hot coffee and took a gulp. "Pepper's taking the day off, so we're going about on the town. Anyone wanna come?"

"It's Saturday – aren't most people usually off-work?" Steve asked, folding his arms.

"Pep's hardly ever off-work," Tony began, only to be cut off by Clint, who strode into the room.

"That's because you're hardly ever on," he muttered.

"Hey." Tony pointed a finger in the archer's direction. "You're the one who stands the most to benefit from this anyway, Robin Hood."

Steve repressed a smile, and failing, covered his hand with his mouth.

"Why, what would I benefit from Pepper being off work?" Clint asked, pouring milk over a bowl of cereal, and stabbing in a spoon.

"The Tower is going to be free of press, security, and other boring things for twenty-four hours. All the stuff that has to be in place while work is going on. And you're the one who keeps setting off that alarm I'm beginning to wish I never had installed by going up to sleep on the roof, so –"

"Clint, you've been sleeping on the roof again?" Pepper Potts entered the room, dressed in a casual yet stylish outfit, her hair out of her way in a clip at the back of her head. "Why has that started again?"

"Sleep better up there," he said, taking a bite of his cereal, and shrugging. "Don't worry about it. You're the one leaving blankets, right?"

Pepper shook her head. "No, I'm the one telling you to stop being such a recluse and try to live a normal life in this nut house."

Clint blinked. Natasha. Now he really felt stupid. He'd have to call her on that one, give her the time of her life about that "stop taking care of me" line. He finished his cereal in record time as Tony expounded on his plans for the day, and then began to hurriedly wash up the dishes.

"Just leave those," Pepper began, but Clint shrugged.

"I don't mind. Well, I'll go with you two if I'm not going to spoil anything... er..." He rolled his eyes and pretended to grope for the word while Tony scowled.

"-Of course not." Pepper jumped in. "Thor? Steve?"

"Sure, I'll go."

"I shall as well."

"Great. Steve, will you go ask Natasha and Loki if they're busy?"

"Ooh, that came out wrong," Tony heckled, and Clint and Thor glared simultaneously.

"Have we told you to keep your opinions to yourself?" Clint asked, slamming the cupboard door closed on the clean dishes and making Pepper jump. "You make everything a joke."

"I'll stay out of this one," Steve said, rising, and excusing himself. "I'll go find Miss Natasha and Loki." Thor exited with him, leaving Pepper to scold Stark in private, and Clint to pop him hard with the dishrag with where he knew it would hurt. His aim didn't fail.

"Ow! Pepper!" Tony yelped. "Not fair!"

"You boys play nice," Pepper remonstrated, and suddenly pulled out her phone as it began to chirp. "Hello, Phil. Yes. Oh – no, I didn't, let me..."

_"Pep! Day off!"_ Tony mouthed. Pepper nodded and held up a finger, listening to the voice at the other end of the phone, and then pushing past Clint to get at the notepad and pencil on the counter.

"Mhmm... mhmmm. Alright, I''ll see what I can do. Do you want me to put him on the phone now?"

Tony was shaking his head violently, drawing his finger across his neck in a repetitive motion, and finally put the dishrag over his head and groaned as Pepper handed him the phone. Covering the mouthpiece, he whispered,

"Remember, I hate being handed things?"

"You'll be fine." She leaned over and kissed him quickly, before the leaving the room.


	7. Warming His Blood

The team headed out shortly, Natasha declining the invitation because she really did not feel like being social. Loki was nowhere to be found – even JARVIS couldn't locate him.

"I cannot detect his presence anywhere in Stark Tower, sir," the AI system's voice reported.

"Aha." Tony shook a finger. "Very accurate. 'Can't detect his presence'. Well, the wonderful Wizard of Oz is going have to make his appearance sometime. Really. Now why would you want to be invisible? Then nobody could see you..." His voice trailed off as he entered the elevator and the doors shut.

Loki and Natasha passed and repassed each other all day going about their business, but neither said much more than a few words to the other, and although the team returned that evening, ignoring Tony's protestations that they were going to miss the nightlife of the city, neither joined them, Natasha retiring to her room early to read and Loki again going missing.

As she passed the lounge, overhearing Banner and Tony in a heated debate about something going on in the lab, Natasha made a point of avoiding eye contact with Clint who was watching her, and heading straight to her room.

Shutting the door behind her, Natasha gasped and whipped out the stiletto she always kept in a secret place as there was a flash, and Loki appeared before her. As the lights faded, he chuckled, and gestured toward the knife.

"A little jumpy, are we?"

"You'd better not try that again unless you know what you're up against," she muttered, turning around, and replacing it carefully so it couldn't even be detected under her clothes.

"I do apologize." He lifted both hands suppliantly. "It probably was a bit of a scare."

Natasha didn't answer, but went to her drawer and began to rummage for something, leaving Loki to pace around the room and finally seat himself on the end of the bed.

"Do you want something?" Natasha asked, not looking up from her search. Loki heard the slight edge to her voice, and gauged his words carefully.

"Not particularly, just to chat," he said at last.

"So you do want something." Natasha sighed. "I guess it's just lost, then."

"What are you looking for?" Loki rose, and looked over her shoulder.

"A box. A little white box with vines carved all over it." Loki's brows lifted. Natasha set her jaw.

"I keep tear gas pellets in there," she growled.

"And you want to use tear gas on me?"

"No, it's just time to replenish my stock," she returned. Suddenly, Loki held out his hand, and with a small flash of light the box appeared in his palm. Natasha narrowed her eyes.

"Thief –" she began, but he invited her with a gesture to take it from him. She reached out, and her hand passed right through the illusion, making it vanish. Loki laughed, and then rubbed a hand over his mouth and apologized.

She pursed her lips. "It's fine."

"A bit of fun."

"It's fine," she repeated. "I'll find it later. I'm actually glad you're here. I need to talk with you."

She went over to the window and opened it so that the air would circulate more freely through the room, and sat down on the edge of the bed, beckoning for him to do the same. "I have been wondering a few things about you recently. You're the only guy around here nobody gets. I mean, you're so secretive and out of sorts all the time."

"And what is it you Midgardians say?" Loki asked in surprise. "That the pot is calling the kettle black?"

Natasha nodded. "Something like that. Yeah, I know. But everyone knows why I am the way I am."

"Why are you the way you are?" Loki asked softly.

"We're here to talk about you," Natasha said evenly. "I want to know what makes you tick."

"Oh, goodness." Loki put his arms behind him and leaned back. "What makes me tick..."

"You know what I mean."

Loki sat up, and met Natasha's eyes, a strange mix of emotions blending in his gaze which Natasha met without blinking. "Do you really want to know?"

"I wouldn't ask if I didn't want to know."

"What I mean is," he exhaled through his nose, "Has someone put you up to this?"

"Do you really think that anyone would put me up to something I don't want to do? I don't know about you, but that's not generally a good idea if you value your health and wholeness."

Loki chuckled, and to his surprise, Natasha joined in. "You know, you are one of the few people for whom I hold any sort of admiration."

Now, Natasha had opened her mouth to say something scornful because she hated flattery, but on second though, rerouted it to,

"Any sort? Oh, thanks, I am some sort of admirable."

"Exactly. " He grinned.

"What kind of admirable?" She cocked her head playfully – this was a side of Natasha so far only Clint was allowed to see. But there was something in the manner of this twisted, misunderstood individual that reminded her of herself, and the least she could do was reward his efforts with decency.

"I'm not sure what kind," he admitted, "But I have a feeling it is whatever kind I hope to be."

Natasha had no good reply for this one, so she changed the subject. "So you and Thor are brothers. You're nothing alike."

"We're not, actually," Loki said in a low voice. "All my life I was raised believing a lie. Everything I ever thought was not true, and when the rug was pulled out from under me, I didn't know where to stand except on my trickery and mischief. Even my mother, who I always thought the world of... I never talk about this to anyone. Not even Thor."

"You're lucky to have a mother," Natasha remarked.

Loki looked up quickly, his eyes wet. "Sometimes I wish that I didn't. I esteemed her so highly, and now she is fallen in my eyes."

"What did she do?"

"She bore me."

"She's your mother." Natasha wasn't getting it.

"At first I was told Odin and Frigga were my parents. There was no reason why I should think otherwise. When I was grown, I realized the truth while in Jotunheim – another realm," he explained, seeing Natasha blank look. "I demanded that Odin tell me the whole story so he gave me this tale of rescuing a frost-giant baby from the Jotun Temple after the battle. As if that made any sense. He was knee-deep in Jotun blood, why would he rescue a child? Laufey's son? That's what he told me. If I was Laufey's son, I am a Frost Giant. But why am I not giant?" He was breathing hard, his eyes alight. Natasha listened in silence.

Loki dropped his voice and his gaze. "My mother told me the rest. There was a time when she and Odin were struggling in their love. She found comfort in the arms of – of..." he choked.

Natasha put a hand on top of his without realizing she did it. Loki swallowed, and whispered, "The enemy. Laufey. They had an affair... and I was born. Laufey took the child, but was ashamed of his small size – Asgardians are large to Midgardians, but not to Jotuns. The battle was about me. Frigga – my dear mother, the goddess of purity, faithfulness, and nurturing... behaved like a common whore. Odin found out, and blamed Laufey, invading Jotunheim, and reclaiming me. He declared me his own son, out of love and in seeking to reconcile with his wife. But it wasn't true. I am a lie," he spat. "A b– "

"Alright, then," Natasha interrupted, giving his hand a squeeze which was not lost upon Loki.

He leaned forward and put his head in his hands a heaved a sigh. Lifting his face, he said, "I'm truly sorry. But you did ask."

"Yes, I did," Natasha said.

"I suppose I'm just looking for power, and for some reason to exist... isn't everyone?" Loki felt a little twinge at this – what he actually meant was _Aren't you too? _

"I don't know about everyone," she said, shaking her hair out of her face, and repositioning herself on the bed so she could cross her legs. "But I think I know what you mean."

"Do you?"

"I told you, I don't say stuff I don't mean."

Loki focused on her hand and tentatively drew a pale slender finger across her knuckles. Her gaze locked on him, so he covered her hand with his politely instead and said, "Tell me of you. You forget I am not exactly the social type that is in on all the secrets of this group. All I know is what you've told me – once before."

"You really think bringing that up now is a good idea?"

He hesitated, and then firmly shook his head, his dark hair falling in front of his ears, a smile lighting up his face, and bringing out his distinctive chuckle. "You won."

"I know. I'm surprised you brought it up."

"Can't stand losing? I've got a bit of that too."

"A bit." Natasha snorted. "I'd say. From what we've seen, and from what Thor says."

"Thor isn't exactly a liar, not like –"

"You?" Loki froze. Natasha looked at her lap, her eyelashes dark against her pale face in the dimly-lit room. "Sorry," she muttered, withdrawing her hand.

Loki crossed his arms over his torso and took a deep breath. "You think I'm a liar?"

"Aren't you?" Her voice was soft. There was a long pause, and finally his voice came, faint on the shadows:

"Yes." There was another silence, and he finished, "But that doesn't mean I'm not capable of speaking a true word. Or of trying to be honest and straightforward. It just doesn't come naturally to me. Or I've trained the tendencies out with disuse."

"That makes sense," she replied quietly. "The Red Room conditioned all thoughts of mercy, reprieve, or remorse out of me. But that doesn't mean the feelings don't sometimes resurface anyway." She swallowed. "But it's hard."

In the darkness his hand searched for hers, and accidentally brushed against something else. He felt her stiffen, and he knew his own face had grown still. At last he located her hand, and gave it a brief caress with his lips. Neither said anything for a long moment. At last, Natasha broke the silence.

"Gosh."

Loki chuckled. "What a profound remark, Ms. Romanov."

"No – I meant I completely forgot the other thing I was going to ask you." She gave his hand a squeeze – Loki realized, somehow not surprised, how strong her hands actually were. He chuckled, giving her hand a return squeeze. "Do you think my hands are cold?"

She considered for a moment, and then nodded. "Yeah. But it's not too bad."

"I always thought it made people uncomfortable. It's my Jotun blood speaking there."

"Do you ever get hot?"

"I feel the heat more keenly, perhaps, but you mean hot to the touch?"

"Yes."

"Well..." he drew the word out, and gave her a smile in the darkness, drawing his face close to her ear. She remained motionless as he whispered. "I know a way."

Suddenly there was a noise from without. Natasha started, and reached for her weapons, turning on the bed and kneeling, one knee up, her back to Loki. He looked at his lap, a small smile tugging the corner of his mouth. He twitched his fingers almost imperceptibly, and the sound of footsteps faded off down the hallway. Black Widow relaxed and set aside her firearm.

"You never rest, do you," Loki said almost inaudibly, reaching out a unsettled hand and letting it alight on her shoulder. She let him run his cool hand down the length of first one arm, and then the other. Slowly, he lowered his lips to touch the skin on the side of her neck as his arms crept around her waist.

"I hope you know what you're getting us into," she murmured, leaning back into him, and intertwining her fingers into the long straight locks of his hair. "Everyone thinks I have no heart."

"Not I. And you actually know I'm not a monster."

Natasha turned in his arms and shook her head, her mouth inches from his. "I don't know about that. But I don't really care."

Loki closed his eyes as garments were shed and let the feelings of bliss flow over him – as his desires were fulfilled, his dreams were realized, and his errors were kissed into everlasting forgetfulness.


	8. Compromised

Natasha woke early, her arms entwined about thin air. Loki must have vanished sometime in the night. But wait... there was a small note fluttering in the breeze of the open window. She grabbed a leopard-print towel that was draped over a chair and wound it around herself, approaching, and picking it up.

_Apologies for the lack of farewells. It was wonderful. Now I know I have someone who can completely understand my need for the Tesseract, and can help me claim it. I will return soon._

She furrowed her brow, the morning light glancing around the room giving it an entirely different aspect than last night, and slowly bringing her thoughts into more focused clarity. Her first thought was _No. No, no, no... Stupid Natasha, all he wanted was someone to help him in his dastardly schemes. He doesn't love you. _But then his words came back to her. Words she overheard him shouting at Thor: _"Did it ever occur to you that I might resent everyone always thinking I am up to no good? Did it ever occur to you to ask me what I might be here for? Oh no, it's always 'Loki is up to his mischief again,' and 'Loki can't be trusted because once he made a mistake!" _He might be the god of trickery, but could she deny the reality of feelings she understood because she felt them herself?

Her mind was such a tumult of feelings, emotions, and half-finished thoughts that she decided to figure it out later. She wasted no time in her normal training routine, enjoying the simplicity of executing techniques and fight moves she had practiced and utilized for years, and then jumped into a cold shower. As Natasha stood in the spray, letting the chilly water cascade over her face and body, she tried not to let it remind her of his cool touch. Her scalp tingling after a brisk scrub, she emerged feeling refreshed, and hungry.

Natasha closed the door to her room, unable to explain the sudden hope she had that she would not encounter Loki on her way to the 'family' kitchen. But for some reason, who she did encounter seemed infinitely worse.

"Morning, Tash," Clint greeted as she stepped into the the room. Natasha froze, then turned on her heel and abruptly walked away. Clint raised his eyebrows and exchanged a look with Bruce.

"Any ideas?"

"None."

Clint knew better than to chase after her and ask what was the matter, but a moment later, he let himself out onto the Stark's landing platform, and saw Natasha leaning on the railing, and looking out over the city. He approached and stood beside her, leaning his arms on the railing as well, and looking down, and waiting for her to open the conversation first. He didn't have to wait long.

"I can see why you like to come out here."

Clint nodded. "Fresh air. Good view. Peace and quiet. Yeah, it's my kind of thing." There was a long pause, and then he asked, "What's wrong?"

Natasha turned on him. "Did I say anything was wrong?" she snapped. Clint was used to Natasha's general hostility, and knew she usually didn't mean it as badly as she sounded, but this time he was genuinely shocked at her venomous tone of voice.

"Okay, I – uh – sorry..." he retreated. "Never mind." He looked down to where, far below them, the weekend traffic of N.Y.C. was in full swing. Natasha buried her head in her arms for a brief moment, and then lifted her face, her hair rumpled. Clint moved to smooth it for her, something she generally didn't mind as long as they were alone, but she recoiled from his touch.

"Just knock it off, Barton," she mumbled. "I'd like to be left alone."

"'Kay. I understand that."

"That means go."

A bit hurt, the marksman turned to face her. "Nat, I thought I didn't count."

"You do today." There was a silence, and suddenly there flashed into his mind the memory of the day he awoke in the infirmary of the helicarrier, Natasha by his side, only to face the results of his horrible crimes when he was under Loki's power. He spoke her name softly as he had done then. A single, simple word:

"Natasha."

That was it. She broke, the strong, battle-hardened, invincible assassin, and buried her face in his chest. He held her in silence, like so many other times, and let her shake – she did not cry – and stroked her hair away from her face, almost imperceptibly rocking from foot to foot.

"Hey, it can't be that bad," he soothed, expecting her reply, which she fired from beneath the mass of her tumbled hair against him:

"Well, it is."

He smiled. "You wanna tell me?"

She pulled back and stood motionless, letting him brush the stray pieces of hair out of her face and watch them play in the slight wind that had arisen. "I guess I'd better, since it's gonna be a national security threat."

Clint's eyes narrowed. "A national security threat?"

"I've been compromised."

Clint folded his arms, taking a deep breath. "Oh. And you think the U.S. just can't get on without you–"

"Cut the small-talk, Barton. This is serious."

"Okay, then. Care to elaborate?"

Natasha took a deep breath, and then said in a flat voice, "I fell for Loki."

Clint rocked up on his toes, and then back down again. "What does that mean?"

"We exchanged secure information – in bed – last night."

That hit Barton like a tone of bricks. He was aware of her personal details – she told him she had been sterilized by the Red Room, and likely subsequent injuries and chemical exposure had completed the job just in in case, but she never had expressed any interest in a physical relationship of any kind with anybody. And if she had, well then Clint always assumed... He realized this was probably written all over his face and tried not to look stupid.

"O-Okay, then, well – what do we do?"

"Where is he?"

"Haven't seen him this morning," Clint said, chasing after Natasha as she cursed under her breath and stalked back toward the door. He caught her arm and she turned on him, her eyes blazing.

"If he's gone, then we're really in for it. The Tesseract. Contact Director Fury right away – and..." she closed her eyes. "We need to call a conference. I need to tell them everything."


	9. Give it All

A knock came on the door of Thor's room that night, and he called "Enter!" and broke off in his furious pacing. It turns out he was the last person who had seen or spoken to Loki since the "fonduing" as Tony insisted on referring to it, much to Steve's annoyance, as Loki had materialized in his room early that morning and informed Thor that he was returning to Asgard on urgent business. What that urgent business was Thor had no idea, but he and Steve were united in outrage at how his brother had infiltrated Natasha's careful guard and compromised her security. It was beyond Steve how anyone could treat a lady that way, and Thor was enraged that his trust in Loki had been shattered yet again.

"Enter!" he shouted again, and then realized that he had to unlock the door himself on account of the pass-code. Pressing the correct combination after cheating from a small string of numbers inked on the underside of his wrist, he swung the door open to reveal Bruce standing in the corridor with a perturbed look on his face.

"Good evening, come in," Thor said.

"Thank you." The doctor entered the room, and shut the door quietly behind him. "Sorry to disturb you – were you busy?"

"Not particularly. I was just pacing and working myself into a rage over things. I'm sure you understand."

"Yeah. I'd better not do that," Bruce said wryly. "Anyway, I wanted to ask a favor of you."

"Certainly." Thor beckoned for Bruce to have a seat on a large carved wooden chair that looked strangely out of place in the hotel-room-like chamber, and poured him a large tumbler of Norse mead. Bruce shook his head.

"Not for me, thank you." Thor nodded and took the cup himself, downing a large amount of it, and sitting on the edge of the bed.

"I've been down in the lab," Bruce began, looking at his lap as he spoke, "Analyzing what results I could. I was talking to Agent Romanov and we agreed it is very unlikely that she would have behaved in such a way without some sort of artificial incentive."

"Artificial incentive? Explain," Thor said, furrowing his brow. "You have a great mind and know many scholarly things, but I'm afraid my knowledge is more in the line of battle."

"I mean something he could have given her like a poison, a drug, or something."

Thor shook his head. "Magic. Loki is a master in all sorts of mind control. No substance was needed, that I can almost assure you."

"We discussed that." Bruce pulled his glasses out of his shirt pocket and put them on, pulling out a tablet that contained some lab results and portions of cell diagrams. "But we thought we should check just in case. And technically, when we took the blood samples... it had occurred recently enough to extract parts of his DNA to analyze as well."

Thor nodded, his mind slowly grasping the far-reaching abilities of science. Bruce continued, "I'm examining the samples separately to determine if there was any foul play. It's difficult work. Both sets of DNA are so altered from most examples that I've studied – Agent Romanov from her past conditioning, injections, and alterations, and Loki because... I suppose because he's Asgardian, not a human. What I'm wondering is if you could provide me with a sample of your blood – a normal Asgardian's- to analyze alongside his sample. That would make this a whole lot easier for me."

"I would gladly give all of my blood to help a friend," Thor smiled, replenishing his cup. "This will prove most interesting."

"Well, I don't need all your blood, just a little," Bruce smiled, a welcome feeling after hunching over microscopes and centrifuges in the lab for hours, his face alternately growing stiff and slack.

"Very well. But I must tell you Loki is not Asgardian. He is adopted – of Jotun descent. Therefore, if our bloods are not too similar, do not be surprised."

Bruce nodded. "Alright. It's worth a try though."

"Should we proceed down to the lab?" Thor asked, rising, and preparing to do his part.

"Actually, I brought everything I'd need here, if you don't mind."

Bruce opened his briefcase and produced the necessary supplies. After sterilizing the needle with alcohol, he cleaned a small patch of skin on the inside of Thor's elbow, suppressing a grin as Thor looked on with obvious interest.

"I'll need you to make a firm fist for me," Bruce said after tying a strip of medical tape around Thor's upper arm to restrict the blood flow. Thor did as was instructed and the veins bulged to the surface of his pale skin.

"Okay, maybe not that firm. I don't want to make a mess here."

Thor complied, and Bruce said, "Here goes," and inserted the needle easily into the blue vein. Crimson blood spiraled through the thin tube and rapidly filled the vial which Bruce held.

"That's it." Holding a piece of sterile cotton firmly to the spot, Bruce quickly removed the needle and taped the cotton in place, untying the medical tape, and giving Thor a brief smile. He put the needle and tube in a small bag brought for the purpose, and put the vial of blood carefully away after labeling it THOR, and the date.

"Thank you, I'd better go and begin to spin this stuff," he said.

Thor didn't understand the second half of his remark, but he nodded, and asked, "How long until I can remove this bandage?"

"Anytime, really. It shouldn't bleed much, and the vein will repair itself in a matter of minutes. Goodnight, Thor."

"Goodnight, Bruce," he returned, and the doctor closed the door behind him, rubbing a hand over his face. It was going to be a long night.


	10. Bad News

Bruce jerked awake and groaned softly, wondering how long he had been asleep. He glanced at the clock – it read 5:21. The screens had all automatically dimmed, and Bruce cleared his throat and spoke to the AI.

"JARVIS, could you turn on the systems and get them up to speed? I need to review this data really quickly."

"Of course, sir," JARVIS responded, and the screens flickered on, bringing Bruce back to the microworld in which he had been immersed when he must have finally crashed. He sighed, and for the tenth time, reviewed the results. Bruce had to admit he was a little intimidated at the data that had emerged from his simple blood samples.

"JARVIS," he said, rising from his rolling stool, and giving it a gentle push across the lab floor, "Tell me who is awake right now. Anyone?"

"Mr. Stark is, although Ms. Potts is not yet awake. Thor, Captain Rogers, and Agent Romanov are asleep and Agent Barton's signal is coming from the roof, but it is not clear what he is doing up there."

"Thank you," Bruce said, a little distractedly, running his hands through his thick brown hair, and ignoring the overwhelmed feelings that he was beginning to realize were the same as those that he felt when they were thawing and reviving a man who had been frozen in the North Atlantic sea for seventy years.

_This kind of stress is not what you need, old man, _he told himself. "JARVIS, please let me know when Agent Romanov is awake. Don't tell her that I need anything, just let me know."

"Understood," the automatic voice confirmed. Bruce exited the lab, wondering subconsciously to himself what on earth would happen if Tony were to waltz in there for any reason and see the blood tests. As annoying and immature as Tony could be, he was smart. Genius, actually, and he didn't have to be a medical doctor, having mastered thermonuclear astrophysics overnight (unless that was just a joke, which Banner didn't happen to believe it was). He'd worked in the lab with Tony. And if he could just get over his obsession with freeze-dried space food any time he was in the air and stop making off-color comments at awkward moments, Bruce might actually have liked him quite a bit. Correction: Bruce still did like him quite a bit. They had immense mutual respect for each others work, and privately enjoyed being referred to as mad scientists or the Science Bros.

"Doctor Banner, you wished me to notify you that Agent Romanov is now awake," the trim British accent of the AI announced.

"Great. Where is she now?"

"She is in her room, sir."

"Thanks, JARVIS. Please let her know that I need to speak with her privately before she moves on with her day."

"Right away, sir," JARVIS replied. Bruce entered the elevator and pressed the correct button, feeling the lift drop farther down the tower with each passing second. It slowed, and came to a stop, the doors opening with a ding.

Bruce stepped out of the elevator, the doors closing behind him, and crossed his arms across his chest, looking at the ground for a moment while he collected himself. Agent Romanov had already seen his worst side in a private showing, but he still felt bad being the one to witness her so vulnerable. It had to be done.

Natasha heard the prompts of JARVIS, and was waiting at the door, stepping out into the hallway, and greeting Banner.

"Hello, Bruce," she said. "Bright and early, huh."

"Yeah," he grimaced. "I slept a little though."

"What's going on?" She pursed her mouth and and crossed her arms. "Get my blood sorted out?"

"Kinda," he replied awkwardly, and then gestured. "Let's step into your room, Natasha."

Beginning to be worried by his manner, Natasha did so, and shut the door behind him.

"Do you want to sit down –" she began, but Bruce passed a hand over his face and shook his head.

"No, no, I'm fine, but you'd better sit."

"Bruce, what are you talking about –" she demanded. "You're scaring me to death. What did you find out? Was he drugged or something? Was I drugged?"

Bruce decided to get it over with, a pained expression on his face. "Natasha –" he met her eyes, and laced his fingers together. "A lot of different stuff showed up in your blood work. Some normal stuff, but mostly stuff I'd never seen before. You've gotta realize this is not my area of expertise. I'm a gamma radiation geek, not an OBGYN."

Her face grew still, and Bruce realized he'd blown it, just like with Steve. He shut his eyes. "Natasha – you're pregnant."

She froze for a moment, and then sat down hard on the bed. There was a long period of silence, and then denial set in. "What?" she breathed. "No... no. No, no, no! That is not even possible. Bruce, I was sterilized in Russia, and I've had so many blows and stabs to the stomach who knows if I can even – no! That's impossible, you're wrong. You made a mistake –"

Bruce was shaking his head. "It's absolutely positive." he said softly. "I'm so sorry."

Natasha sat in silence, her brain numbly groping to understand why it was so important that she come up with an excuse to prove him wrong.

"How can you even tell? It happened last night, give it a freakin' break to get out of my system before you go making assumptions like that. You said yourself this is not your area of expertise– "

"Natasha." Bruce bent over her, his eyes meeting hers. "Do you want me to take it down to the lab and show it to you and explain it all?" She shut her eyes and shook her head. "Listen, I'm sorry this had to happen to you." A tiny tear seeped out from beneath her lashes and dripped quickly down her cheek, and Bruce's heart ached for her. "I don't know what to suggest except to contact Director Fury and update him so he can send you undercover for a while."

"Undercover?" she managed, opening her eyes. Her pupils were dilated, and Bruce didn't like that, so he poured her a cup of water which she pushed away.

"Really," he said, trying to put it into her hand, but she said weakly:

"You want a broken wrist, Bruce? Didn't think so."

He sighed and set the cup on the top of the dresser. "I can contact him if you want."

"I can do it."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

He sat next to her on the bed for a long time, and just let her stare off into space and come to terms with the ground-shaking information he just dumped on her. At last she murmured,

"I don't have to go undercover. I'll just terminate it."

Bruce shook his head. "Don't try to figure everything out before I leave the room. It doesn't work out well if you try that, I promise. You know where to find me if you need anything – right now I bet you want to be alone for a bit."

"Sure," she whispered, and without another word, Bruce quietly left the room.

After a moment, Natasha spoke, for once not caring what the AI thought. "JARVIS, where is Barton?"

"He is just coming in from the rooftop, Ms. Romanov."

"How many times have I told you to tell Stark to reprogram you to call me _Agent_ Romanov?" Natasha rolled her eyes. "You sound like Steve."

"My records indicate you have given me that command seventeen times, and it has been relayed to Mr. Stark fifteen of those times. The remaining two remain undelivered because at the moment of delivery he put me on mute," JARVIS returned. "I will remind him again, Agent Romanov."

"At least he made you intuitive," Natasha sighed. "But not intuitive enough. Tell Clint that I need him here, now. Not over the intercom, in his earpiece. Got that?"

"Yes, Ms. Romanov. He is on his way."

Natasha rose and took a brief glance in the mirror, not knowing why she did that. She looked absolutely normal, and that was a big relief. She never felt less normal in her life. In a moment there was a click and the door opened.

"Hey, Barton," she greeted, sounding cool and casual. She ground her teeth.

"Hey, Tasha. JARVIS told me to get up here now. Something wrong?"

"Well... yeah."

"What is it?" Clint had been out training. He removed his favorite eye protection and hooked it over the neck of his shirt, still wearing his bracer and shooting glove. He sat down on the edge of the bed made a move to put his arm around her, but she stopped him.

"I don't think so. You're all sweaty."

"Yeah." Barton rose, and cocked his head. "So what is it? Lab results less than desirable?"

She nodded. "Bruce says that – that I'm pregnant." She pronounced the word like a foreign concept to her, and made it almost sound like a curse. Like a kid who heard a curse word and was trying it out for the first time to test its effect on people.

It certainly had an effect on Clint. His eyes widened. "What?" He stared at her. "Pregnant? But Tash, I thought you –"

"I know, I know," she said in annoyance. "So what. Apparently it's not true."

"Wait, wait, wait, yeah, but –"

"But what?"

"W-what are you gonna do?"

"That's what I wanted you in here for, to ask your opinion."

"I thought you were mad at me."

"If anything, you should be about ready to kill me. I'd deserve it," she said bitterly, casting herself scornfully back on the bed, her hand falling across her abdomen. Immediately she tore it away like the area harbored the plague.

Clint sat down slowly in the chair and took a deep breath. "You really should prepare a guy for something like that, you know," he managed at last.

"What, you gonna faint?" she murmured from the bed.

"H-how do you feel?" Clint stammered.

"Shut up!" Natasha glared daggers at him, and then fell back on the bed. "I'm going to terminate it."

Clint's mind was in a whirl. Terminate... "Wait, what?" he shook his head. "Terminate it? Why?"

"Sometimes you surprise me, Barton," Natasha exclaimed, sitting up and crossing her legs. "Why? Do I look like the candidate for the next newspaper scandal? Do I look like prime motherhood material? Do I look eager to carry his demon spawn inside me for nine months? Do I have a job that's good for raising a kid? Do I have a husband? A guy even, who's remotely interested in this?"

"There's me," Clint said, almost voicelessly. He didn't know if Natasha heard him. She ranted on.

"This is the only thing I can do – the least I can do, and the most I can do. There is no way Loki can know about this. I don't even know if I love him, anyway. He's the enemy."

Her words wrenched at Clint's heart, but he knew better. He had lived around Natasha for years and knew there wasn't a thing he could do about his feelings except what he was doing already. But this... this was getting to be a little much.

"Have you told Director Fury yet?" he asked at last, focusing on the business at hand. His feelings – as always – were last priority compared to what needed done. It was just something he'd schooled himself in since his days in the traveling circus training and performing as a master marksman. Then it had been forced on him. Now he realized it was better that way.

"Not yet," Natasha said. "I guess I'd better."

"You should ask him to review your medical file and see if he thinks it's going to be safe to terminate."

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"All of the stuff you've been injected with in the past. It might be risky, and it might just complicate things. I'm not a doctor, but considering what you've told me -"

Natasha groaned. "Try to tell me anything's worse than having to do this."

"Maybe not worse for you," Barton said slowly. "Worse for it."

"It?"

"Yeah. It'd probably do a half-way job, considering the amount of resistance to drugs your system has built up, and that would be... just awful. Just don't try, and adopt it," Barton suggested.

Natasha clenched her jaw. "You seriously are trying to talk me into having this – this – and then just... adopting it?"

Clint lifted his hands. "Don't shoot the messenger. You'd better talk to Fury about it. Or Bruce."

"I'd rather talk to Bruce," Natasha said, sitting up and addressing the AI.

"JARVS, see if Bruce is busy or if I can come see him in the lab."

There was a pause, and Natasha was about to rephrase her request for clarity when the voice replied, "Very well, Agent Romanov, Doctor Banner says you should come right up."

Natasha rose, and quickly crossed the room, turning at the door.

"You going to stay here, Barton?"

"No." He stood, and put his hand on the door frame, and waiting for her to exit first. "I've got some stuff I need to discuss with Tony."

Suddenly a flash of pain shot up Clint's arm as Natasha grabbed him and twisted hard, bringing her face close to his.

"Not a word, or my next mission is solo." Her eyes were gleaming.

"Really. Sometimes you insult me," Clint muttered, wincing as she released him. "I wouldn't dream of it."

She held his eyes for a long moment, and then wheeled, striding down the corridor, and disappearing in the elevator.


	11. Black Widow Undercover

It was decided. A whirlwind conference, and everything was said and done. The Avengers knew it all – every detail, and Director Fury confirmed there would be no termination. Black Widow was going to continue her work undercover at S.H.I.E.L.D. collecting intel and commanding ops from the main base. It was all going to be shrouded in the deepest of secrecy, the kind that only S.H.I.E.L.D. knew how to contrive. They were all in a bit of shock. Natasha was nearly silent. Then it was time.

Only Stark, Bruce, and Steve were at the Tower that night when the Widow prepared to make her departure. Director Fury had made all the necessary arrangements for her to be airlifted from the rooftop using one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s unmarked helicopters to avoid any publicity or interest in the vehicles coming and going at the base of the Tower. Thor had gone at once to Asgard to try and find Loki and bring him to justice, and the Hawk was nowhere to be found.

They all gathered in the main area of the 'family' room and stood in near silence, broken only by Steve's awkward shuffling, and Bruce clearing his throat. Tony spoke the first coherent sentiment.

"Sure gonna miss you, spider lady," he said. "But it'll be over in no time."

"Thanks, Stark," Natasha said flatly. "Found our temporary replacements yet? Did you contact the kid I suggested?"

"Actually, I followed advice for once."

"What are you talking about – replacing Natasha and Thor?" Bruce said, his distaste for the idea obvious in his tone of voice.

"Not a chance. We just agreed – me and her and Thor – that for the good of the Avengers, not knowing how long either of them were going to be out and –"

"Are you gonna replace Loki?" Steve interrupted, scratching his head, and instantly regretting the question. He hurried on. "We are sure going to miss you, Ms. Romanov. I – uh – I thought I'd get you a little going-away present, since... since you're not too happy about the – reason..." he stammered, producing a nearly cubic package wrapped in plain white paper. "Clint helped me with a suggestion."

Natasha felt her face break into an unwarranted smile which she strove to hide as she accepted the package from the soldier. "Thanks, you really didn't have to. I don't want this to be fuss."

"Yeah, but open it, I want to know if you like it," Steve urged.

Fighting back the bizarre ideas of a Russian Christmas that surfaced in her mind, Natasha silently tore into the gift, the ripping of the paper the only sound in the room. She tossed the wrap aside and looked at the copy of Leo Tolstoy's _War and Peace_ that she held in her hands.

"Clint said you liked to read, and you hadn't read that one yet," Steve grinned. "Maybe it'll help pass the time."

"Hey, and it's by a Russian guy. Nice going, Capsicle," Tony pointed out.

Natasha looked up. "Thanks, Steve. That was really nice."

He ducked his head. "No problem."

Bruce pulled her into a quick embrace. "Don't forget what we talked about," he murmured. Last night he and Natasha had stayed up into the wee hours of the morning, alternating sitting in shared silence and musing aloud. Natasha heard more of Bruce's story than she ever had before, and would never admit it, but she enjoyed hearing his advice. That was a wise guy hiding somewhere between the mild manners and glasses, and the destructive deadly Hulk.

She nodded, and met Tony's eyes. "Tell me about these new people."

"Thor's sub is the boyfriend of a news reporter for the Daily Planet," Tony began, but stopped as Steve cut him off, crossing his arms.

"Wait a second, a news reporter? That should have been your first warning light."

"No, he's great, I've never met him, but he's the typical- a mixed-up weirdo with superpowers, thought he was a regular guy, but he's the last of his race which is from another planet called Khalil, or something. No wait, that was his name. Goes by Clark, though, lives in Kansas. Heard about him last week. He'll make a great addition to the team – he's got Thor's muscles."

Steve shook his head. "What about for Natasha – just until she gets back?" he hastened to add.

"An old friend of hers. Just the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man."

"Spider-Man?" Bruce rubbed a hand over his mouth. "Is he a relative?"

"He's a kid that helped me and the Daredevil a long time ago," Natasha explained. "Really bright teenager, lots of skills, just a cool kid. You'll like him."

"Well, if Natasha vouches for him and doesn't mind him filling in that's got to count for something." Bruce smiled, but it vanished as the sound of the helicopter's whirring was heard overhead.

"Time's up," Natasha murmured, grabbing her bag, and starting to head for the door.

"Wait just a sec." Tony held out his arms. "Not even a hug?"

Natasha allowed herself to be embraced by each of the three Avengers, and then said, "Tell Barton to look out for himself since I'm not going to be around to save his hide for a while."

They walked in silence up to the roof, and Natasha thought she caught a glimpse of something moving in the shadows cast by the copter's bright flashing lights. She put the book from Steve in her bag without looking up, and tossed it onboard, climbing in, and giving the doorhandle a yank. With a nod, Fury lifted the copter from the roof as the three Avengers watched from below. Just as the automatic system kicked in and began to glide the door shut, an arrow whistled through the rapidly narrowing crack and glanced off the opposite window, clattering to the floor. Natasha bent to pick it up, and as she did so, a mechanism clicked and a tiny note unfurled from a slit in the shaft. It read,

"_Take care of yourself, Tash. It'll be over before you know it. – H._"

"Barton, you trickster," she whispered.


	12. Replacements

"Pepper, what time did you say we're expecting the spider-kid?" Tony had done the unthinkable – he had stood up and walked out of his lab in the middle of a project to confront her as she walked by. Usually he locked himself in the room and didn't eat or sleep for days, living on coffee, and emerging at the end of his inventing marathon unshaven, disheveled, and exhausted, but boasting a new and improved result of Tony Stark's genius-ness. Pepper consulted her tablet.

"Any time now," she said, taking Tony's arm and propelling him toward the common rooms. "You should be getting ready."

"Ready for what? I look great – I always look great... ready to see anyone for anything at the drop of a hat. The habits of fame, m'dear." He pulled her into an amorous kiss, ignoring the grimace of Steve and the smirk from Bruce. "What's wrong, Captain Underpants?" Pepper stabbed him with her stylus in the ribs, causing him to let out a disgruntled sound. "Hey, watch the technology – Captain – er – Crunch? Never seen a guy kiss a girl before? Betcha haven't, let's give him another chance. Watch closely," Tony instructed, latching his lips on to Pepper's once again, ignoring her sounds of protest and backing her up against the wall.

"Go easy, Tony," Bruce jabbed. "You still have to survive a few more hours before nightfall. You wouldn't want to wear yourself out just yet." He addressed Steve, who was putting aside the notebook he had been sketching in, a perturbed look on his face. "Don't listen to – ahm – Flashlight Chest."

"Not a good one," Tony called. "But I don't want to argue with your alter ego, so we'll leave it there."

"Hey, I'd like to address that comment you made," Steve began, getting to his feet.

Pepper shook her head, muttering, "You're in for it, big guy. I told you to stop antagonizing each other."

Steve's clear gaze met Tony's. "If you're under the impression that I am a naïve impotent imbecile when it comes to women, then let me just tell you you're wrong. I happen to think that having a long string of girls you've lied to and used littering the path of your life is nothing great, and on the contrary –"

"Wait, wait, wait, hold it right there, Grandpa. I don't know about any long string of girls that I've lied to or used, and all this litter-bug business is so seventies, which, I don't get since you missed the seventies. Ask any girl who's ever been in a relationship with Tony Stark, even if it was only for ten minutes, if she felt lied to or used. Ask Pepper, for Pete's sake –"

"Guys," Bruce interrupted. "Time out, okay? Can't we just –"

"No, we can't," Steve said, his brows drawn together. He pointed a finger at Tony. "I take serious offense at all your uneducated assumptions. I may have never had a steady relationship like you and Pepper have, but let me tell you –"

"Ever even kissed a girl?" Tony lifted his brows. "Don't bite my head off, honest question."

"For your information, yes, I have," Steve pointed out.

"Once," Tony heckled.

"Yes, once – that was the day my feelings for your mother turned from a schoolboy crush into something that I thought really had a future."

Tony wasn't heartless enough to push this further even if he was having fun, and besides, just then JARIVS interrupted, "Sir, Peter Parker has arrived."

"Spidey." Tony took off toward the elevator. "You all coming?"


	13. Neighborhood Spider-Man

Peter Parker shook his thick unruly brown hair from his eyes and craned his neck upwards to get a good view of Stark Tower. Taking a few steps backwards so he could fit the giant "A" that still remained on the side of the structure of after the Manhattan Incident in frame, he adjusted the focus on his camera, and took the picture. A grin stretching across his face, Peter stowed his camera in his backpack and entered the glass doors at the base of the Tower. He was met by a petite blonde girl in business-casual attire. His face lit up.

"Gwen!"

Peter and Gwen hugged, and Peter pulled back to ask her, "What in the world are you doing here? I haven't seen you in a long time."

Gwen shrugged. "Wasn't my fault I graduated early." She gave him a cheeky smile. "I know how smart you really are, but all your rescuing the world really doesn't do so well in your grades. They don't give credits for saving New York City or ingenuity in acrobatics."

He gave her another quick hug. "You still haven't told me what you're doing here."

"Oh yeah? Well, what are you doing here?"

They stood there in a draw for a moment before Peter's signature awkward laugh broke the silence.

"Okay, okay, you win – I'm here for work."

"Work? Me too."

The came to another draw, and it was Gwen's turn to laugh.

"Okay, I guess I'll explain. Come with me, I'll take you up to meet Mr. Stark." As they walked toward the elevator, Gwen explained, "I don't need to tell you the circumstances in which my OSCORP internship fell through."Peter laughed, as she continued, "And I still needed a few more credits so I was recommended to intern here and learn as much as I could until the fall. It's really great – especially now that my favorite wall-crawler is here." She grinned at him, and Peter returned it happily.

"One of the Avengers, an old friend, was compromised and has to go undercover for a year or so, and they asked if I'd fill in."

"You're joking."

"Seriously? You didn't know this?" Peter tugged on the straps of his backpack, and shook his head. "I really thought you knew everything."

"Wow..." Gwen marveled. "How does your Aunt May feel about all this?"

"You know her. She always seems to be holding up so well, but nobody really knows. I think she's a little worried, but secretly kinda proud," Peter said, ducking his head. "It's a big honor. I'm gonna seem like such an amateur to them."

"You'll do fine," Gwen said, giving him a friendly push out of the elevator as they reached the correct floor and found themselves in a room designed for business meetings and events. Peter, the photographer in him gaining the upper hand, gawked about him and reached for the zipper on his backpack when suddenly the door to his left opened, and a familiar-looking dark haired man strolled through.

"Tony Stark, founder of Stark Industries," Gwen introduced, and the man stuck out his hand.

"You can call me Tony. Or Stark," he said quickly. "Or Iron Man, for short."

Peter shook his hand, and stammered, "Well – I – I – thanks... it's a real – really great – er big honor to be here."

"Yeah, I know, we're just glad to have you. The Widow told us a lot about you," Tony said, crossing his arms over a disk that glowed blue through his t-shirt which Peter was just beginning to realize was the famous arc reactor that kept the billionaire alive and powered the mighty Iron Man suit so many admired and raved about.

"She's – told you guys about me?" Peter wasn't sure if this was good or not, but he hoped so. "What exactly has she been telling you?"

"Well, that you've got some amazing abilities – gosh, kid, don't you watch the news? – that you're smart and brave and the whole shebang... and hot –" Tony grinned at Gwen, causing her to flush even redder than Peter.

He hurried to say, "Well, she's awfully nice. I don't really know how much of it's true, but –"

"Are you the amazing Spider-Man, or not?" Tony stared at him.

"Well, yes, I am," Peter nodded.

"End of story." Tony snapped his fingers, and took off through the door. "Let's introduce you to the rest of the team."

Peter was taken through several rooms all more or less like the first, and into another elevator.

"Gwen, aren't you coming?" he asked as Tony entered the lift and Peter followed suit, but his girlfriend remained standing in the hallway.

"No, I've got some research to finish up and several other projects I'd like to get to," she said, grinning at Peter. "Have fun."

"You can come with us, Guinevere," Stark said, "You know you're welcome."

"Thanks, but no, I really'd rather get to work," she said, waving. "See you, Peter."

"Catch up later?"

"Sure."

The doors shut, and Tony turned to Peter. "That girl really doesn't know how to have any fun. I didn't know you two knew each other."

"Yeah, we haven't seen each other in a while," Peter said, furrowing his brow. "I – uh – why did you call her Guinevere?"

Tony shrugged. "Nicknames. I love nicknaming people. Can we call you Spidey?"

"Sure, I don't mind. So – what exactly is my job description while I'm here?"

Peter followed Tony out of the elevator and into a room that was half lounge, half kitchen. On a chair at the bar sat a man with thick dark hair and glasses, typing on a laptop with a very absorbed look on his face which was a mixture of calm and disturbed. On the sofa another man sat clad in a heathered-gray t-shirt and a pair of slacks, paging through a notebook full of doodles, while a third man wearing a maroon and black leather vest and a bracer stood by the window, eying a flock of birds as they soared past.

"This is it – the Avengers, minus two. Or three, really, but that's a long story. Gang, this is Peter Parker, otherwise known as... tah ta ta taaaaaaaa..."

"Spider-Man," Peter filled in sheepishly, grinning and giving a wave to the group. "Hi, everybody."

The man at the laptop rose and removed his glasses, advancing and offering his hand. "Bruce Banner," he said, smiling slightly. "Nice to meet you, Peter."

"Our personal Hulk," Tony supplied with a gesture. "You don't want to make him mad, believe me."

"Contrary to popular opinion, you don't have to tread on eggshells around me," Bruce said. "I've gotten it pretty well-controlled, and Stark is my biggest fan."

"That's right. Where's Pep?"

"She's right here." Turning, Tony beheld Pepper standing in the kitchen – he hadn't seen her.

"Spidey, this is Pepper Potts, my sidekick, and the other half of my brain," proclaimed Tony.

"Mr. Stark, what have I asked you about not referring to me as half a brain? How about external hard drive, or something?" She squinted and crossed her arms, but gave a wink to Peter.

"Fine – my external hard drive, CEO of Stark Industries."

"Nice to meet you," Pepper smiled at him and Peter waved back. Simultaneously the archer and the man with the doodle book approached and introduced themselves.

"I'm Steve Rogers, Captain America," the tall blond-haired soldier said, giving Peter a tidy handshake. "This is Clint Barton, known as Hawkeye,"

"Good to meet you," Hawkeye said, his voice flat, giving Peter's hand a quick grasp and avoiding his eyes. "I'm a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, and the Black Widow's partner."

Peter understood. "I'm not permanently replacing her, just for a little bit."

"Not even for a little bit if you ask me," Clint said in a low voice, turning and resisting the urge to just leave the room.

"Don't mind Birdbrain, he's just missing his fellow assassin. You're not the only newbie here – later we all get to meet Clark Kent, Thor's temporary replacement."

"Thor?" Peter's eyes lit up. "Like, the Norse god of thunder? Awesome! Is he usually here?"

"Yeah, but he had to run back to his home universe to spank his baby brother for something he did," Tony said flippantly. "No idea when he'll be back and six-ish is a good number of Avengers to have around so we thought we'd give a few of you unemployed guys a chance at saving the world."

"Except we only go when we're called," Bruce added. "We don't exactly roam the world looking for people to save."

"They just come to us," Captain America finished with a smile. "How old are you, son?"

"I'm eighteen," Peter said casually. "But I don't mind."

Bruce and Pepper laughed at this, and Steve grinned. "Welcome to the Avengers, Spider-Man."

Peter hit it off with the team and was a crowd favorite right away. He had an easy-going fun personality and didn't talk all about himself – instead, he was intrigued by the stories of the other Avengers' lives and abilities. They all liked him immensely – except Clint. He couldn't shake the malevolence he felt for the teen simply because he was there in Natasha's place, even though he knew that it was not personal, and it wasn't Peter's fault, nor was it even permanent. Still. He tried his best to be civil, but that was about it. The rest of the team pretended they didn't notice Hawkeye's dislike of Spidey, and subtly tried to make up for it by being welcoming, encouraging, and generally hilarious. But soon they were liking Peter for his own sake, and wondered what it would be like when he was gone. He just fit right in.

Not so with Clark Kent, the enormous quiet reporter who also joined them in the next couple of months. He was tall – as tall as Steve – and with a muscular stature that rivaled Thor in size, with fair skin, piercing blue eyes, and dark hair. He was young compared to most of the team – excluding Peter – and was a bit shy seeming. His overseer at work, Ms. Lois Lane of the Daily Planet, was who Tony originally had interactions with, and as soon as Stark realized that there was no flirting with this down-to-business type of girl, he set to learning more about this Clark Kent. He was all over the news last summer when Kansas had been the target of other-worldly attacks, and since then he had gone somewhat undercover, forgoing his unavoidable nickname of Superman, and going by Clark Kent instead, the name his adoptive parents had given him, even though he confessed to the group that his Kryptonian name was Kal-El.

"So, are there any more like General Zod out there that might threaten your home state while you're away?" Peter asked as they all socialized in the lounge one night over popcorn and a documentary on the Dust Bowl – something Tony picked out for Clark's benefit even though he complained about the boringness all the way through the movie.

"I sure hope not," Clark smiled. "But if there are, then I think I'll have some help fighting them off this time. I actually just wanted to have a normal life for a while.. and then this happened." He looked at the bowl of popcorn which Peter passed to him. "Not that I mind."

"Are you going to show us your suit?" Tony asked, grabbing the remote and hitting the power button the second the narrator finished his clincher line and the credits began to roll to the accompaniment of a whiny country song.

"It's not really a suit, in the sense you're thinking. Not like it turns me into a superhero or anything."

"None of us think that," Steve put in. "It's the man underneath the outfit that makes the superhero, not the other way around. Our suits are just designed to help us with what we're good at, or protect us in battle."

Tony half-expected him to make a snide Iron Man comment, but it never came. Sometimes he didn't get that old-fashioned guy, he was so impossible to predict. Probably came from being close to a hundred years old.

"Well, in that case," Clark said, finishing a bite of popcorn and clearing his throat, "it is a suit. It's what my people all wear on Krypton – or did wear," he gave a sad smile. "It's a kind of armor, and nearly impenetrable."

Peter listened with interest. "I'd like to compare notes with you on the sort of materials it's made of – I made my own suit myself, and I developed this synthetic spandex-like fabric, only tougher, and more textured. It really takes a beating quite regularly though – I'm always having to fix it."

"The thing about Mark VII is that it's metal, and so if I have to repair it that means lab work and welding, not needles and thread," Tony said, "But it's worth it – I think."

Peter nodded. "If it does what you need it to do, then it is."

Just then, JARVIS, following a previous automatic prompt, turned on the screen before them and began,

"Sir, you had better see this. I believe this is someone known to Thor, and that they are working on resolving more of the issues surrounding the Tesseract."

Everyone immediately grew quiet and focused on the incoming images which were a mixture of security footage, pictures from the internet, shaky hand-held camera-work, and interviews with leading scientists and experts in various fields.

"Oh, boy," Tony said, as discussion arose as to which country legally held the rights to a substance found at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean. "They're starting to mud-sling – how adorable."

"And this is the thing you were hoping to find when you found me instead?" Steve said, his eyes wide. "Some disappointment."

"The Tesseract is what most people think is the the answer for clean, sustainable energy. The trouble is we have no idea who is on the other side of it, and we'll probably only find out once the power grid of the whole world is connected to it," Clint said. "There's a good reason Loki is after it."

"Wait, who is Loki?" Peter asked, confused.

"Look – that is someone we know," Banner said, pointing as a young woman with large brown eyes and straight brown hair appeared being interviewed, the bar beneath her proclaiming, "Jane Foster, Astrophysicist. "She's a friend of Erik Selvig, Thor's friend."

"Listen to this, guys," Pepper said, entering the room, her tablet in hand, and stopping short as she realized what they were watching.

"We are," Tony called over his shoulder, reaching over the back of the couch and catching her hand as she walked by, holding it as they continued to watch the footage.

"Do you think Fury is in on this?" Clint asked, standing, and crossing his arms.

"I'm sure he is," murmured the Captain, listening closely as Erik Selvig himself proclaimed the virtues and safety of the Tesseract.

"What's with him?" Tony grumbled. "Doesn't he know that ice cube is evil?"

"Not to mention radio-active," Bruce put in.

Clark stood up, grabbing several of the popcorn bowls and asking Pepper, "Do these go in the dishwasher?"

"Aw, you're so sweet," Pepper said, taking them from him. "Don't worry about it. Clint likes to do the dishes. At least he doesn't mind – do you?" She addressed the Hawk, who was standing by the window, looking out, in his own little world. Pepper sighed, and returned to Tony's side, bending over and whispering in his ear, "Has anybody heard from Natasha?"

Tony considered a moment, and then shook his head.

"Why not ask Clint to contact her. Then he could update us on her progress." She raised her eyebrows in the way meaning _try to get what I'm really saying._ Tony got it, and kissed her quickly. "Good plan. Saving the world can wait. We've gotta save those two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents' love story first."

Pepper rolled her eyes. "Don't mention that unless you want an arrow through your knee."

Tony winced. "No thanks."


	14. Clint's Arrangements

Natasha Romanov squinted, looking from first one screen, and then the other to the file of co-ordinates she held. True, most people would not consider this a boring job, but after 6 months of working undercover for S.H.I.E.L.D, the secret agent was about ready to die of boredom. She longed to be out on the field, personally combating these forces herself, relishing the danger, feeding on the triumph, being refreshed by the constant need for alertness and skill, Clint by her side, and calling cocky things to her though her earpiece...

Her cell phone sat dark and silent next to her on the desk, and for a brief moment, Natasha focused her attention on it. As if on cue, the screen lit up and it began to vibrate – the super-spy never set it on an audible ring. She watched it listlessly for a moment, and finally reached out and picked it up to answer.

"Hello."

"Hello, Nat? It's me, Clint."

At the sound of his voice, a sudden wave of an unnameable feeling washed over her and she shut her eyes in an attempt to deny it, holding back the small smile that played at the corners of her mouth.

"Hey there. Been a while."

"Yeah. Like months and months." There was a pause, and Natasha shut the file she held in front of her, switching the phone to her other ear and idly swiveling back and forth in her chair.

"They've been keeping me busy, thank goodness, but not as busy as I'd like."

"Well, then..." Clint sounded awkward, their conversation forced, driving Natasha to pose her next question:

"Where are you?"

Back at Stark Tower, Clint's face creased into a smile. She knew him far too well. "I'm here with Peter, Bruce, Tony, Pepper, Steve, and Clint. Everybody, I guess.." He rose, and left the room, closing the door behind him, and making his way to his chamber. "Everybody but you. Now I've left. So – what's been going on?"

"I told you, nothing." Natasha's voice sounded so dreary. Clint folded his mouth tightly.

"Won't be forever."

There was a long pause, and she finally returned, "I wish it would just hurry up and be over."

"They giving you medical attention?"

"S.H.I.E.L.D's best," Natasha mocked. "Jeez, it gets annoying."

"How often?"

"Every three weeks now."

Clint resisted the urge to smile, knowing that she would be able to detect it, even over the phone, by the change in his tone of voice. He cleared his throat instead. He would die before admitting it to anyone – maybe even Natasha included – that for years he'd had back-shelf dreams of a normal life and a family of his own. Sure, normal for them – ahm – _him_, he amended – would be a far cry from the dreams of anyone else, but he secretly indulged himself in thoughts of a plain apartment in the city, a predictable work schedule... actually, he'd have to think on that one... a wife, and a few rambunctious kids: a couple boys who he'd take out of town for weekends of target shooting and wilderness living – one would take to it like a fish to the water, and the other would need a little encouraging, which brought out the patient side he'd always wished he'd develop, and a couple girls who would ace their tests at school and divide their free time between every possible interest beneath the sun, and antagonize their brothers to no end...

"You still there?" Natasha broke in on his reverie, and Clint shook himself free of his wool-gathering long enough to pass-code his door, and let himself in.

"Yeah, sorry, I wanted to go somewhere else so we could talk better. How long do you have?"

"As long as I want. They're pretty free with me, here," Natasha replied, sighing, and then finishing in a low voice, "If I can't get out of here and on a real mission soon I think I'll kill myself or something."

If it had been anyone else Clint would have laughed and come back with a quick repartee, but knowing Natasha, he knew it was a very real danger. But he also took comfort in the thought that S.H.I.E.L.D. had known Natasha since the day he disobeyed orders and brought her back to the base instead of killing her, and had decided that keeping a very close eye on her ever since was a good idea. He didn't expect they'd give it up now just because she was gonna have a kid. Kid sounded so... normal. But that's what she had referred to it as the few times she was forced to mention it, never a _baby_. That sounded too soft. Too good, pure, and innocent.

"_I can't have a baby. Do you have any idea how much blood is on my hands?" _Natasha had asked him. _"I'm probably tainting it just by having it live inside me. I'm already ruining its chances. I kill people for a living, I don't want to be responsible for creating another human who will have just as hellish of a life as I've had, maybe worse."_

_"But maybe it will be better," _Clint had said firmly, hope in his eyes. _"You can't refuse to look that possibility in the face."_

Barton sat down on the edge of his bed, and opened the topic gently.

"Natasha, I've been doing some research for you."

"'Kay. What kind of research are we talking about?"

It tormented him that she seemed so reticent to talk, even to him. He knew this was a hard season for her, and didn't expect much different, but that didn't stop him from longing for this to just be over, for everything to be back how it was again. _Barton, you're a selfish brute,_ he inwardly berated himself. _Think about poor Natasha. Does it seem like she's doing this on purpose?_

"Options." Clint shut his eyes, recalling the important parts of what he'd been reading about online. "S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't seem to have anything in place for these kind of situations," he began, but Natasha said dryly,"Gotta set a precedent."

"Anyway, there's an agency that deals in emergency high-security closed adoptions. Emergency being short-notice and top secret."

Natasha narrowed her eyes. "You don't have to do my homework for me, Barton."

"Have you found anything?'' There was no reply. "Then let me finish. I've taken the liberty of contacting them and giving them all your information. There's only a few things like preferences I don't know about you. The agency requires your info, but does not pass it on, and vice-versa. The couples involved with this agency have passed a single inspection and less red-tape than a normal adoption. And no information about them is given to the mother other than their names and the state in which they live."

"Is my name given to them?" Natasha asked in a low voice.

"No. They don't know a thing about you, and you never see each other. The agency deals with the rest. You don't even have to see the baby if you don't want to. Of course, being a closed adoption, you'll never make contact again."

"Fine with me," Natasha said, her businesslike aspect putting a heavy weight on Clint's heart.

"You don't mind I got you all set up?"

"Nope. You know my S.S.?"

"Got it all in here. The only things I need to finish are a couple questions. Do you want to see the baby when it's delivered? Which hospital will you be delivering at? Set up a call system to notify the agency when you are in labor – I listed myself as the contact –" Natasha was nodding, trying to both take in the information and let it shed off her back like a duck in water, "And this is optional – to suggest a name for the child. Just a suggestion the adoptive parents may or may not choose to utilize."

"Is that it?"

"And that brings me to another question," Clint said, running a hand through his hair.

"Okay, let's start at the beginning. No, I don't want to see it."

"'Kay, got that."

"It's not an option for me to deliver in the infirmary here, Fury says, on account of possible complications, so I guess that leaves us New York Medical Center." Natasha spoke in a low voice, not because there was anybody around – and if they did, who give a fig what they think, everybody knew by now – but because she was struggling against the feelings of failure that rose like a great tidal wave before her mind's eye in the magnitude of the trigger flashbacks she still experienced. Only now when she awoke from nightmares in the dark, there was no Clint there to listen, to talk, or to give her his shoulder to cry on.

"What about the name thing?"

"No comment." Barton knew better than to press the case. "What was the other question?"

Clint took a deep breath, and then let it out. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. "Tell me what you think about this," he began. "I... my cousin Ed Barton and I grew up pretty close. This was back in Iowa. I could always go to Ed's house when things got bad at mine. Even after the circus, we kept in touch pretty well. I'd always see him when I was in town. It was me that got Ed and his wife Cindy together in the first place. Well... it was through them I found about about the website. Apparently they were rejected by the DHS for adoptions because of some stupid reason, and then found this. Do you still want to go through with this knowing that my relatives could end up involved?"

Natasha was silent on the other end of the line. Clint held his breath, wondering if last minute his secret hopes would be foiled. Finally she spoke.

"No one gets my name, right?"

"Right. Neither side knows anything, the agency handles it all with the highest of secrecy."

There was another pause, and then Natasha said,

"Alright. Send it to me for signing."

"Great." Clint said, carefully keeping the relief out of his voice. "You'll get it in no time, and then everything's set."

"Thanks." Natasha sounded genuinely grateful. "I was just starting to realize that I'd better get on top of things myself and didn't have any idea where to start. I hate all of this. So much."

"I know you do." His voice was low, and soothing, and it made her heart ache. "Can we see each other?" His voice was heavy, and longing.

"No." Natasha shook her head. "I don't want anybody to see me like this."

"I could always just look up your old friends in Russia and have my memory wiped," he joked, but his voice was serious. "No way? I miss you. So much."

"I miss you too," Natasha said softly.

"I could come at night – it'll be pitch black, so you I won't see you. At least we could talk."

"Barton, we are talking."

"You know what I mean."

Natasha found herself nodding. "Alright. Call first, though. No surprises. If you try to peek, I'll really hurt you, don't think I won't."

"I swear. I'll call you next week."

"Sound good. Take care, Barton."

"You take care too."

Clint hung on to the phone a second longer and was rewarded for his efforts.

"Clint?"

"Hm?"

"How's Peter behaving himself?"

"Oh, fine." But Clint knew what she really wanted to know. "He's a good kid, but it's not the same. We'll all be glad when you're back. I need my partner. Won't be long now."

"The worst part is still ahead," she muttered. "Bye." Then there was a click, and Clint knew it was really over. He sighed, and rolled over on the bed, letting his eyes close for a brief moment. Gosh, but he missed that woman.


	15. Loki and Thor

Loki spun around, and his angry gaze collided with that of Thor's.

"I have searched the nine realms for you," Thor began, advancing, his mighty hammer in hand, "But you had been seen nowhere, and it seemed that you had indeed vanished."

"Who says that I didn't?" Loki mocked. "Your doubts in my powers are truly insulting, son of Odin. I go where I wish, do what I please, and make myself know to those whom I see fit, and no being can tell me otherwise. You may be the great favorite, but I am free and intend to behave in a befitting manner."

"Do not give your silver-tongued speeches to me, Loki. I know what you have done, and I am here to prove to you that somewhere in the branches of the Yggdrasil, there lives one who will see justice done no matter the cost."

"Oh, is that the influence of our Captain coming through?" Loki cocked his head. "Or is that adopted from the Man of Metal?"

"Mock not our mighty company – you were once of it," Thor said through his teeth, his eyes lighting up a bright blue in pent-up fury. "No more are you one of us."

"Finally you are starting to realize it." Loki's face grew a shade paler than its normal hue, and he began to shake with anger. "I always knew that something was different about me –"

"Stop flattering yourself you are a victim, Loki, you have always been treated as one of us, as an honored son of our father, as a great Asgardian prince and magic-weaver, as a skilled member of our company of Avengers," Thor began, but Loki cut him off.

"- And now I know what was wrong. I am not one of you. I bear none of your blood..."

"Now, there you go too far, and dishonor the name of our mother," Thor shouted.

Loki shot back, trembling with rage, "I am above you, above you all, and it is time that all the worlds knew it! The Tesseract is rightfully mine, as my seat of control over the worlds, and I am daily closer to possessing it."

"This is madness!" Thor bellowed. "You entice and harm one woman and think it draws you closer to possessing the Tesseract? You pretended like you were not interested in it," Thor pointed an accusing finger, "And misled us all with your motives. She thought you loved her –"

"And who is to say I don't?" Loki raised his hands innocently. "If my memory serves me correctly, you fell in love with a mortal woman yourself who helped you regain your power..."

"Do not bring Lady Jane into this, she had nothing to do with my power in my exile," Thor seethed. "And she has nothing to do with the present situation. Where is Sigyn?"

"How your mind hops about!" Loki exclaimed in mock consternation. "What brings you to ask such a question? I have not seen her in years."

"Precisely. This brings to mind a similar situation years ago when you fell in love with and impregnated a peasant girl, then insisted upon bringing her to live with you at the palace, no matter what Father said –"

"How dare you," Loki hissed, stepping closer to Thor. "Mysterious are the ways of love, and I was young and foolish."

"Not unlike now, brother," Thor said sadly, shaking his head. "My trust in you was strong, and I have given you chance after chance."

"And I ruined them! All of them!" Loki screamed. "_You_ gave me chances! _Father _gave me chances! _Mother_ gave me chances. Sigyn, The Warriors Three, Heimdall, they all gave me chances! Well, for once, why aren't _I _in command of something? Why cannot I give myself chances at the power and life I deserve? I gave myself a chance in Midgard, and I am succeeding. How dare you step in and big-brother me and tell me what I can and cannot do? It is preposterous! The basest of interfering pride!"

Lightning crackled from Mjolnir, and Thor strove to keep his rage in its proper place as Loki ranted, his eyes glowing, his teeth bared, and his whole thin frame shaking. Thor took a step toward his brother and demanded, "Tell me now of your intentions on Midgard."

Loki narrowed his eyes. "Never," he spat. And in a flash of light, he vanished, leaving Thor standing alone in the empty room, his shoulders heaving, and great drops of sweat running down his face and into his beard.

_AUTHOR'S NOTE : Sigyn is Loki's wife. To read more about this backstory and to further understand Loki and Sigyn's relationship, read my friend ThisIsMyMindPalace's story "Quandary". Thank you for letting me borrow your ideas, MindPalace! You are great._


	16. Invisible Visit

Natasha waited in silence in the pitch black room, a tiny antechamber off the side of one of S.H.I.E.L.D's conference rooms. A tiny crackle and then a voice came to her over her earpiece.

"Tasha?"

"Yeah."

"Can I come?"

"Yeah, I'm in the closet of room 121A," she said, releasing the button, and taking a deep breath. She hated to admit how much she had missed all of the Avengers, but especially Clint. Briefly she wondered if this were a good idea as she caught the sound of quiet footsteps entering the room.

Clint's voice spoke her name. "Natasha." She waited in silence as he opened the cracked door, and let himself in, taking a deep breath in the close confines of the anteroom. "Does this have to be secret?"

"No, but it was still light enough in the main room to see a little." Clint nodded in the dark, pulling the door shut behind him and heaving a sigh.

"I'm so glad to be here with you," he said honestly, reaching a hand out and finding hers in the dark. She gave it a hard squeeze that proclaimed her agreement more than her words ever would. "How are you?"

"Fine," she said. "Ready for it to be over with."

Clint smiled and shook his head. "Nat – I wish I could see you."

"Don't push, Barton."

"I want to see your face." He stroked her hand in the pitch blackness, hearing and feeling her breath close to him.

"You know what my face looks like," Natasha chuckled, but then sobered. "I don't want any of you to see me like this. To remember me like this."

"I understand that. But aren't I always the exception to the rule?"

Natasha shook her head. "Not this time, Hawk." He sighed in resignation.

"Where are you?" He felt gingerly up her arm and rested his hand on her shoulder, feeling Natasha carefully keep her torso away from him, but allowing him to throw his arm around her shoulder. She leaned her head into the angle of his neck and they stood thus, comfortable and silent for a long time. Clint squeezed his eyes shut, and then opened them again, the pitch blackness of the room beginning to hurt his eyes which were still straining for some visibility, no matter how impossible that was going to be.

He murmured, "I can't stay long," and Natasha nodded, letting him stroke her hair away from her brow and rock ever so slightly back and forth. He removed his arm from around her shoulders and ran a hand down the back of her head, feeling her thick soft hair extend down her back.

"Gosh, Natasha, your hair is so long!" he exclaimed.

"It grows fast," Natasha shrugged. "I figured I'd just let it go, since nobody is going to see me anyway, and cut it after this is all over."

"Now I really want to see it," Clint smirked. "I bet it's nice."

"It's not nice. It looks like an old woman."

Clint's chuckle filled the tiny pitch black room and made Natasha smile. "I'm sure it doesn't," he said, reaching for her again, and accidentally brushing his hand against – He felt Natasha stiffen and move back a couple inches from him in the tiny space.

"Kind of crowded in here," Clint said evenly. "Are you armed?"

"Always."

In a swift move, Clint's hand moved to her secret place and snatched her stiletto out of its sheath, and confiscated the tiny automatic from the small of her back. He shoved them far back into a shelf by the door.

"Anything else?"

"Give those back, Barton."

"No. I don't want you to kill me."

"Good point," she said. "Give them back when we leave."

"Of course."

There was a long, heavy silence in which their breathing was the only thing heard in the closet. The air was beginning to get close, their warmth filling the tiny space and making the silence feel hazy. Clint was overwhelmed by Natasha's blessed nearness at last, and he knew she felt the same way. In a swift move, he enveloped her in a hard, strong embrace, and she returned it happily, not holding back, her altered figure pressing against him and making him throb in places he'd rather not. Clint closed his eyes, letting his hand travel down her hair, down between her shoulder blades, and trail down her back, slowly creeping around and resting gently against the side of her swollen belly. He could feel her breath catch and then come quicker, and increased his hand's pressure, dropping to his knees before her, and murmuring,

"Don't kill me." Slowly he reached out and lightly touched the front of her belly in the darkness, putting all his senses other than sight to work as he closed his eyes and traced a hand across it's firm surface. A thrill ran through him as blind in the dark, he placed both hands on the unborn child in Natasha's womb and focused all his thoughts on it's behalf. His pressure growing steadily heavier, he held her resolutely in place and pressed a gentle kiss to her belly, the warmth of her skin through her shirt calling to him and making him grope for its hem.

"I don't think so," Natasha whispered, catching his hands and pulling him to his feet. In the darkness, Clint looked down as she leaned into him briefly, and said in a low voice, "You should go now."

"I know," he murmured, tearing his hand from hers and reaching for the doorknob. He turned back. "We say goodbye here, since you won't come out?"

"Right. The room will seem bright compared to in here."

"Come out," Clint said, giving in and nearly begging. "I'll go first so you are behind me and I still won't have seen you."

"You'll turn around," Natasha said, fully convinced. "No."

"I swear I won't turn. Natasha – when have I ever lied to you?" His voice was earnest. There was a long pause, and then he concluded, "I've got to go." He stepped forth into he room, and then stopped, standing stock still before the large conference table, his back to the closet, his eyes squinting at the seeming brightness of the dim room after the blackness of the closet. He heard footsteps behind him and shut his eyes, a wave of longing rippling down his body.

"Okay, I'm out. Don't turn around," Natasha said in a small voice.

"Alright. I won't." There was a long pause, and then he said, "Bye, Tasha. I'll be seeing you soon. We all –"

Suddenly she was behind him, enveloping him in a close embrace, her body pressed unashamedly into his back, her arms clasped around his chest. He leaned back into her for a moment and laid his head against hers, squeezing his eyes shut and pivoting in her embrace to hug her from the front.

"My eyes are closed," he whispered, and he felt her give a small laugh.

"Good. Nothing to see."

"Goodbye, Natasha."

"Take care, Barton."

And not trusting himself to keep his eyes shut any longer, Hawkeye wheeled and strode out the door, leaving Natasha standing alone in the silent empty conference room.


	17. Another Visit

When Loki vanished to escape from Thor's vengeance, he had not visualized where he planned to relocate himself. His subconscious taking control, Loki opened his eyes to find himself in an empty room at S.H.I.E.L.D's base. He knew why he was here. The Black Widow. He did not have Heimdall's eyes to see in all realms, nor the sixth sense that some of the Avengers claimed, but he had powers of mind control, and invisibility... which made it nearly impossible for him not to achieve the same results. And the woman – the woman with the fire-hued hair and the matching temper, the woman who perhaps was the only person with whom he had ever let down his guard and who perhaps alone understood his feelings of rejection, guilt, and longing... she was here. He had not seen or heard from her since the night upon which their feelings for each other were consummated. Truth be told, he was divided between his thrill at having someone who was at last united to his purpose and goals – someone whom he could control at last - and the fear that she would reject his control over her in the cold light of day, the control she had so freely given him in the darkness of the night. And fear that she would see him for who he really was – for somehow she possessed an ability to see even what he could not – and reject his love on those grounds as well.

He was invisible, and he was not alone. A figure stood on the other side of the table, Loki realized as his eyes rapidly adjusted to the blueish lighting of the darkened room, and he knew who it was. Natasha. Her heartbeat thundered in his ears – and a second heartbeat...

Loki was at her side in an instant, his eyes taking in everything from the pair of tears taking a stroll down her pale face, to the long red hair that reached past her shoulders and creased into waves that would put any Asgardian noblewoman to shame and envy, to her figure, altered beyond recognition with child – his child. The thought hit him like the blow of a Frost Giant's icy mace, making his chest rise and fall in uneven catches and his legs quake beneath him. What had he done...

Natasha turned away, crossing her arms and dropping her head, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs as the silence of the room roared in her ears. She thought she heard a small noise and remembered her weapons still stashed somewhere in the anteroom. Scanning the area, Natasha neither heard the noise again, nor saw anything but momentarily was arrested by a small, cool breeze eddying about her, and a sudden chill that ran the length of her frame and lingered in her stomach... Then it was gone. Straightening she shoulders and blowing out a breath, Natasha retrieved her weapons and returned to her room, opening the book from Steve and perusing the page bookmarked by the light of the lamp, but not really seeing the words. And in a dark corner of the universe, a gap between two realms, a tall figure doubled over in unexplainable pain and quietly wept.


	18. Steve's Flashback

Steve lay once again on the bed in the infirmary, and presented first his right hand, and then his left to be strapped down.

"You ready for this?" Bruce asked him, and he nodded.

"Just routine check of vitals?"

"Basically. Plus some other things relating to your DNA and the serum's effect on the changes to which your body is adapting. I can explain if you want, but considering the time we had better get underway."

Steve grinned. "I trust you."

Bruce chuckled, and his face blurring into oblivion was the last thing Steve saw...

_"Rogers, Steve, Barracks 11B," Colonel Phillips barked, continuing on down the list. Snickers ran through the crowd, but a sharp look silenced the new recruits. Steve didn't see what was the matter – until he realized that Barracks 11B was for staff, not soldiers. He sighed. The army did have a point there... he was an experiment, recruited with the help of Doctor Erskine, and was to do as he was told until Project Rebirth was ready for him. He didn't know if he would ever be ready, hardly understanding what the procedure was to do anyway. All he was told was that he would be the first, and that he was perfect for the job..._

_Easing open the door to the staff barracks, Steve slipped his slight frame through into the murky darkness of the long low room, and shuffled along the corridor following the dimly lit signs upon each door, labeling the blocks Unit A, Unit A.1, Unit A.2, Unit A.3, ah – finally. Unit B. Knocking lightly on the door, Steve was surprised to hear a voice come from behind it._

_"Come in." It was a woman's voice. Swallowing, Steve laid a hand on the latch and stuck his head tentatively in, before opening the door all the way and stepping inside. Two plain iron bedsteads stood along one wall divided by a stack of empty MRE boxes atop which perched a hurricane lantern and a book. At a desk on the other wall sat a woman – the British woman he had seen earlier during training, who had introduced herself as – _

_"Agent Carter?" Steve asked quietly. She looked up from her work, and gave him a brief smile._

_"Mr. Rogers." Steve's heart sank. Not Private Rogers, or anything, just plain Mr. Rogers, a painful reminder that no matter how far he had come, he was still not a real soldier, but an experiment._

_"I gather you are to be borrowing the other half of my quarters for the duration of your stay here, unless you object," she continued, a business-like aspect about her, as usual, Steve was beginning to realize. He marveled at her sense of command, her decorum, and obvious confidence in her role, and wondered if she always behaved in such a way._

_"No, I don't object – that is, if you don't mind," Steve fumbled, setting his bag on the bed nearest to him, observing that the other appeared a bit rumpled, and probably was hers. "I keep to myself."_

_"I should hope so," came the response, and turning, Agent Carter crossed the room and grabbed a stack of pyjamas she had sitting on top of a leathern satchel. "We change in the lavatory down the hall," she instructed, and with that, shut the door behind her, leaving Steve alone in the barracks. He supposed it made no difference now that she was gone, and quickly removed his too-large soldiers' jacket that he had been so proud to receive earlier even though he knew it wasn't quite a uniform, and stepped from his stiff slacks into a pair of soft cotton pants, leaving his undershirt and dogtags on, and slipping between the sheets of the hard bed. _

_He lay there on his back, the covers pulled loosely up over his narrow chest, staring at the ceiling until he heard the soft footfalls of bare feet, and the door opened to reveal Agent Carter, clad in a set of mens' pinstripe pyjamas and carrying her uniform and shoes under her arm. She produced a comb and quickly pulled it through her hair before turning out the light in silence, and sitting on the edge of the creaky bed across from Steve. He held his breath. This was an awkward arrangement to be sure, but there was nothing that could be done – he supposed such a situation would never have occurred had he been a real soldier, or anybody over five foot three and 110 pounds for that matter – and it would continue only temporarily, so he privately resolved to cause as little a fuss as possible._

_"So, Mr. Rogers," Agent Carter said, her crisp voice cutting into his thoughts in the darkness, "What do you think of the U.S. Army?"_

_"What I always thought, ma'am, that it's a great and wonderful thing, and I'd be honored to be a part of it."_

_"Aren't you?" The question dumbfounded Steve._

_"Well – I – not really," he stammered. "You know."_

_"You have been listed in my training roster along with all the other boys, you will be taking your meals with your regiment, and doing the regular duties of a soldier. The only thing that prevents you from being a real member of the army is a uniform, a title, and your name on the proper sheet. Does it really matter?"_

_"With all due respect, miss, it does matter to me. In my estimation, the uniform, the title, and the name on the piece of paper are all the most important parts, second to doing my patriotic duty, of course."_

_Agent Carter had to admit she was impressed. She had seen this tiny recruit during training, and had given him neither special hardships nor special attentions. He certainly had a big spirit, even though she fought the urge not to laugh when she saw his quaking push ups, his breathless jumping jacks, and the helmet that fell down over his brow when he ran._

_"Doctor Erskine has certainly picked the right sort of person for his experiment," she commented, lying back on the pillow and pulling the covers up to her chin. "He is a very interesting man."_

_"I like him a lot. I think we will be good friends."_

_"Do you know much about his project?"_

_Steve shook his head. "I just met him the other day."_

_"Well then, you're in for a shock. I won't spoil it as I know very little myself, but it is, ah – quite the undertaking, I understand."_

_Steve didn't know what to make of this – whether it was good or bad, so he decided to ask. Peggy didn't answer directly._

_"You had better talk to him about it. He will be here tomorrow to view the recruits' progress – or, more properly – your progress."_

_Steve felt vaguely honored by this man's interest in him, and smiled in the dark. "Well, I'd better let you get some sleep, and prove myself true to my words of not bothering you. I bet you're starting to not believe me."_

_"Not at all – I began the conversation in the first place."_

_There was a silence, and then Agent Carter rolled over and sighed, "Goodnight, Mr. Rogers."_

_"Goodnight, ma'am."_

_Steve lay awake long into the night, listening to his barracks-mate's even breathing and hearing the owls cry to each other in the woods just outside the compound. _


	19. The Longest Day

_The following day was the longest day Steve ever remembered living through – he had never been more sore in his life, not even on the day when he sparred with a bully three times his size in a Brooklyn alleyway for two hours before admitting that he was soundly beaten. His body ached in every possible place, places he never even knew existed, and his throat burned from dehydration. Holding his head erect and wincing as he made his way in as soldierly a fashion as he could manage to Barracks 11B, he took no notice of the man standing and smoking a cigarette around the corner of a building, and talking and laughing with one of the guards._

_Agent Carter's duties kept her in the officers' quarters late, and so Steve readied himself for sleep with more haste than caution for his muscles, and was just about to leap into bed and let out the satisfied groan that he had been repressing the entire day when the door opened, and footsteps entered the room. Steve jumped – the light of the hurricane lantern shone, not on Agent Carter or one of the officers, but upon the fine features and civilian clothes of a distinguished-looking dark-haired man._

_"Oh!" The man jumped in his turn, viewing the scrawny recruit halfway on his cot, and looked about the room. "They've got you in here, have they?"_

_Steve could do nothing but nod, and stick out his hand. "Steve Rogers. Sorry, I –"_

_"Is Peggy not in?"_

_"Peggy..." Steve groped. "Oh – Agent Carter is at a debriefing with Colonel Phillips. Should I tell her you... called?"_

_"Don't bother," the man said, helping himself to a seat on Agent Carter's cot, and settling in for a conversation. Steve swallowed, and grimaced as he turned his body to face his guest. "She knows I drop in occasionally," the man continued. "I'll just catch her next time. So, you're the new recruit I've been hearing so much about. Agent Carter's been talking about you."_

_"R-really?" Steve was shocked – why would a beautiful and important woman like her notice a little guy like him...? "What's she been saying?"_

_"Oh, lots. How rude of me." He rose, and offered his hand. "Howard Stark. I work in weapons and defense technology. Agent Carter and I are old friends."_

_"Oh – really." Steve regretted it the instant it was out of his mouth, as it sounded so unconvinced and territorial. If anything, this Stark was going to be upset about Steve's living situation in such close proximity to Agent Carter, not the other way around... He realized that he wasn't listening properly to Stark ramble about his newest inventions and all the times he had come here and Peggy wasn't around to see him – ungrateful thing – and his construction of a corporate tower to house his multimillion dollar business's base in New York City... Steve shook himself and tried to be more attentive, but his eyes wouldn't quit drooping._

_"Well, if I'm not boring you to death, I don't know what would!" Stark exclaimed at last, laughing outright, and stroking his dark mustache. "I'd really better be going. Tell Peggy that I stopped in if you remember – and –" he pointed a finger. "Look out around here. You've got to stay in one piece at least until Thursday when Doctor Erskine and I can get ahold of you." _

_Steve realized he must have missed the part of the conversation linking Stark and Erskine in Project Rebirth, but he nodded, and said, __"Nice to meet you, Mr. Stark."_

_"Likewise." And the door shut with a bang. _

_It was late that night when it finally opened again and Agent Carter slipped in and quietly began to make preparations for bed. A groggy voice startled her from the other side of the room. __"Er – miss?"_

_"Mr. Rogers," she said, after gasping and recovering herself. "Whatever are you doing awake? I thought you looked exhausted earlier and so I sent you to bed."_

_"I was waiting up for you," he explained in a haggard whisper. "Mr. Howard Stark stopped by and said to tell you that he... stopped by," Steve trailed off, stifling his hundredth yawn._

_"You didn't need to stay up to tell me that," Agent Carter hissed. "You'll end up sick, and get a bad record on your second full day here." But all the same, she couldn't deny this growing feeling of admiration she felt for this little recruit, who already had demonstrated the bravery of a warrior, the smarts of an alleycat, and the character of a saint. _

_Thursday came sooner than Steve realized, and he freely admitted to Agent Carter – who now insisted that he call her Peggy, if likewise she could call him Steve – that he was a little nervous and had no idea what he was in for. _

_Peggy nervously laced and unlaced her fingers as she watched the preparations from her vantage point in the press room, and resisted the urge to laugh as Steve's voice came, muffled from inside the disturbingly coffin-like chamber in which he was encased,_

_"I guess it's too late to use the bathroom?"_

_Howard Stark met her eyes and their gazes locked for a moment, united in their concern for the welfare of this young soldier. At Doctor Erskine's command, Stark pulled the lever. A blinding light began to flash from the chamber and Peggy gritted her teeth as cries began to come from within. They grew stronger and Peggy could stand it no more. _

_She burst from the press room and stood on the metal scaffolding, gripping the handrail and shouting over the racket, __"Shut it down! Shut it down!" _

_Doctor Erskine did not look up, but __Howard Stark did, meeting her eyes and holding the power level steady._

_"Shut it down!" Peggy's heart was thundering in her ears._

_Just then there was a loud gasp and Steve shouted, __"No! No! Keep going – I can do this!"_

_Doctor Erskine looked up as Agent Carter stared into his eyes, and then he nodded. The power increased the one hundred percent as sparks began to fly and the room shook. Suddenly the glass on the dials of the control panel exploded and all was silent and hazy. Running on a battery back-up, the chamber upended and swung slowly open, revealing a tall, bare-chested, muscular figure covered with sweat, and panting heavily. Peggy stared – the face... and then he opened his eyes. They were blue, and the same – very much Steve. He looked about in confusion and fell forward as Doctor Erskine released the straps which held him in place. Peggy hurried down to ground level and stood before them._

_"Thank you, Doctor Erskine," she said, resisting the urge to stare at the half-dressed man who towered above her. "How do you feel?" she asked, focusing her eyes somewhere between Steve's neck and his chin._

_"Taller," he managed. Doctor Erskine chuckled. _

_"You look – taller..." supplied Peggy, nervously looking around them before locating and handing him his shirt which Steve immediately took from her and pulled on. Just then a shot rang out, and chaos ensued..._

_Peggy was in Barracks 11B seated on her bed quietly reading and trying in vain to keep her mind off the events of the day and the duties of tomorrow when there was a quick knock and the door opened to reveal Steve, looking a bit tired, but mostly just sad. _

_She quickly averted her eyes and pretended that she hadn't noticed his entrance, feigning to read until he cleared his throat. __"Peggy?" _

_She looked up and raised her eyebrows. __"Hello, Steve. How did it go?"_

_"Fine," he sighed, and seated himself on his bed, his back to her and began to remove his shoes. "An awful lot of questions. Sometimes I just had to say 'I don't know. I really just don't know.'"_

_"Well, if that's the truth, that's the best you can do," Peggy said crisply, returning to her reading. _

_Steve watched her curiously.__"Are you okay?"_

_She nodded. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be? I should be asking if you're okay."_

_Steve was silent, and then murmured, "The funeral's tomorrow."_

_Of course. Doctor Erskine. Peggy realized she was being very insensitive. She shut her book and turned to face Steve. __"I'm deeply sorry for your loss, Steve. I know – he was a good friend to you."_

_Steve furrowed his brow and ran a hand over his mouth – a nervous habit he had indulged in ever since she had met him, but it had a completely different effect on someone of his... magnitude. But then, everything was different now. Everything but Steve inside, which was in a strange dichotomous way the same. But then, why should it be different? He still had a little guy spirit, only now it was in a big guy body. Although it was undeniably pleasing, Peggy knew that she ought to put more distance between them now that the experiment seemed to have... worked._

_"Have you seen Mr. Stark?" she found herself asking, hating herself for dropping clues like this even as she did it. It wasn't that she didn't like Stark – she did. And he took especial pains to demonstrate his feelings for her. It was just that before she had played down their relationship for Steve's sake, and was now trying to play it up so that people wouldn't start thinking things..._

_"Ah, yes, I actually did," Steve replied. "He was there at the conference. He looked... tired."_

_"I can imagine," Peggy said under her breath. "Everyone is probably exhausted." _

_Silence reigned for a moment, and then Steve gestured to the stack of MRE boxes upon which perched Peggy's book she had laid aside. __"What are you reading?"_

_"A novel," she replied briefly, trying to make her lack of interest in conversation plain. Steve caught the cue, and nodded, his mind puzzling over why should would be acting this way. _

_With his characteristic straight-forwardness, he asked, __"Are you upset? Did I do something to offend you? Because if I did –"_

_"No, Steve," Peggy shook her head. "Nothing's wrong. I just don't really feel like talking."_

_"Oh." Steve was quiet for a moment and Peggy's heart cried out against her hypocritical actions. She decided to follow his example and come clean with him: _

_"Listen, Steve, it's not that I don't like you, or don't want to be friends, but in spite of the barriers of rank we are crossing in striking up an acquaintance like this, it is entirely unsuitable now."_

_Steve wasn't following her. "Alright – I get the rank thing, and I appreciate your efforts to make me welcome here, but -"_

_"Steve, you've got to realize you're not who you were before. I mean," Peggy corrected, "you are, inside, but no one else will know that. Not for a while, at least. In the meantime, I think it best if we keep our distance."_

_"But we –"_

_"I mean no casual exchanges of remarks in public, no private grins over mess, nothing. People will automatically assume the worst."_

_"What's the worst they could assume?" Steve queried._

_Peggy sighed in exasperation, the emotion that came out on top of those tumbling about inside her breast, and said, "That we're carrying on, or something."_

_Steve pursed his mouth. "Carrying on... like, I'm talking too much to you? Carrying on and on and on about... ah. I see. Well, I'm sorry if I –" He stopped short as Peggy stared at him. "What?"_

_"Don't be ridiculous," Peggy murmured, standing and crossing the room to retrieve something from her desk. "You know what I mean."_

_"I mean, if you want me to leave you alone –"_

_"Steve –" Peggy wheeled. "Carrying on? Like having – an immoral relationship?"_

_Steve frowned. "Now, why would anybody think that? Just because we are friends–"_

_"And because you're three times bigger than you used to be, and sharing my room," Peggy said harshly. "People will either think that I'm a shameless – that I'm shameless," she amended, catching sight of the innocent glint in Steve's eyes in spite of his huge frame, "Or that you're taking advantage of me in our situation."_

_"Taking advantage of you?" Steve looked genuinely appalled. Peggy could not believe it._

_"Listen, I'm not going to stay up all night and explain the ways of intimacy between a man and a woman to you. Has nobody ever – I mean, didn't you have a father who –"_

_"My father died when I was six," Steve said quietly. _

_Peggy was silenced, and decided to drop it. __"Oh – I – I'm sorry, I didn't know," she managed. "Let's just... forget it, and get some sleep." _

_Steve sighed in a disturbed sort of way, and turned down the light as Peggy gathered her things and headed for the door. __"Goodnight, Peggy," he said, a bit shyly, and Peggy shut her eyes._

_"Goodnight, Steve," she returned at last..._


	20. Much-Delayed Dance

_Steve was sure he had done something wrong. He had no idea what it was, but nothing was the same between himself and Peggy anymore. He hated to admit it, but he felt something more for her than he had ever felt for a woman – it was not lust, or selfishness in any way, though there was no denying that she was beautiful in more ways than one – but rather it was honor for her as a woman, a sense of duty to her as his superior officer, and inherent respect of her inner strength and intelligence. Yes – he loved Peggy Carter. But she loved Howard Stark, he was sure of it. Besides, there wasn't any honorable way of displaying his feelings toward her in his given situation, and time and time again he was painfully reminded of the fact he didn't 'know a bloody thing about women' as Agent Carter put it. He had been shocked by her behavior – but it didn't make him love or respect her any less. Instead, it sparked something within him he had no name for, and tormented him constantly, driving him to near despair thinking he was shirking his patriotic duty in falling in love. It was when he realized that doing his duty to his country and doing what he longed to do in Agent Carter's estimation were one and the same that his heart soared higher than a P-17 and he began to do truly great things. And then there was that fateful mission, headed toward New York... the crash in the icy Atlantic.. the rescue...the miserable months waiting for transport and medical attention..._

_Steve opened his eyes, struggling to remember where he was. For a moment he thought he was in the infirmary, and then his vision slowly cleared to reveal that he was in the back of a plane tied to a stretcher with the sleeves of his own jacket, covered loosely with a metallic reflective poncho and a torn parachute. He listened to the pilot drone co-ordinates with the landing crew, and felt the plane shudder in the turbulence and creak as it lined up with the runway and made it's descent. _

_"Ah – excuse me?" Steve managed at last, bringing a medical attendant to his side. "What's going on?"_

_"He's conscious," the attendant called to another, and then bent over him. "You were nearly gone, soldier. We contacted your base and they said you were MIA and given up as lost. So we were told to contact Howard Stark and bring you to him – or more correctly, a certain –" The attendant consulted a clipboard he held, and ran a finger down the page, "-Margaret Carter." He looked up. "Does that name mean anything to you?"_

_Steve's foggy brain processed the name. Margaret... Margaret... Peggy. "Yes. Yes, it means a great deal," he said. "C-could you repeat that bit about Howard Stark? Where am I headed?"_

_"Stark Tower – that's where they are," the attendant said quickly, following landing procedure and fastening his safety belt as they touched down and taxied down the runway. Steve stared into oblivion, his mind going over and over what he had heard. Peggy... Stark Tower. Howard Stark – that's where they are. They. He shut his eyes again and fought against the sob rising in his chest._

_"Yes? Yes, this is... Oh – oh, yes. I do. Of course. Certainly, bring him in." Peggy Carter put down the telephone, and turned to Howard who stood watching her, a faint smile playing over his features, as he leaned an elbow on the table. She crossed her arms and confronted him. _

_"Why didn't you tell me he was here?" she demanded, her eyes flashing. "Then at least I could have gone and seen him and not left him all alone just two floors below us wondering if he has a single friend in the world –"_

_"Hush-sh, stop it, no need to make a fuss. In your condition –"_

_"It's a condition women have survived in for thousands of years, Mr. Stark," Peggy replied crisply. "That's no excuse for why you didn't tell me that Steve was alive! That he was here! It's just –" She gave up, lacking words. _

_Howard straightened and made his way over to her, slipping his arms around her from behind, and burying his nose in her hair, stroking her slightly rounded abdomen. "It wasn't necessary, and it wasn't going to be good for you, seeing as you couldn't see him until he recovered."_

_Peggy was stiff in his arms, and Howard sighed, planting a kiss on her cheek, and releasing her. "Too bad they interrupted your music – I really like that song." He gestured to the forgotten piano across the room. "I guess they've deemed him ready, and are sending him up?" _

_Peggy nodded, too overwhelmed for words. Steve. He was alive. He was not only alive after all this time, but now he was here, recovering in Howard Stark's own infirmary. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. What was he going to think...? That she went with Howard the moment he left? That she didn't love him? That she was a shameless..._

_"Will you be alright?" Howard asked, furrowing his brows together. "I know you two were close – friends, that is," he amended. "I just thought –"_

_"Never mind," Peggy waved a hand. "It will be alright. We were – close..." she murmured. _

_Howard watched in non-jealous curiosity and finally said, __"Well, then, I think I'll let you two catch up one-on-one. I'll be in my lab. I do want to see the chap when you two are done."_

_Pegggy nodded. "I'm still upset at you, Mr. Stark."_

_He pulled her into a kiss and returned, "I know. I'll get over it." And with that, he left the room. Peggy's heartrate increased exponentially as she quickly set the room to rights and swept her long loose hair back into a quick tail at the back of her head. She smoothed a hand over her tidy middle whose slight protrusion with any luck would be missed, and turned with a brave face to meet the world – or who once made up her world. It seemed like forever before the lift finally opened, and she was face to face with the man himself. Emotions washed over her in nameless quantities._

_"Steve!" she exclaimed, all hopes of remaining cool and collecting going out the window as she fled into his arms. He was a bit surprised but returned her gesture nonetheless, and releasing her just as their embrace was growing too long for propriety. She cleared her throat, and looked at the floor for a moment, before glancing back up._

_"Can I offer you something to drink?" she said evenly._

_ Steve nodded. __"Water would be great."_

_"Certainly. Do have a seat." In a sort of daze, Steve looked about him, and made his way over to the sofa, sitting down and wondering why he suddenly felt like an actor in some sort of surreal drama. Momentarily Peggy returned with a glass of water which she handed to him before taking a seat opposite him, and smoothing her hands over her lap. Steve took a quiet drink of his water, and looked up to find Peggy staring at him, her eyes full._

_"I can't believe it," she whispered. "We really thought you were dead."_

_ Steve nodded, taking a deep breath. __"Well, the world didn't stop for me then, so I don't expect it to now," he said, causing Peggy to wonder just what he meant. On a second thought, she realized she didn't want to know, and tried in vain to banish it from her mind. _

_She shook her head, not taking her eyes from his face. __"I am so glad to see you." It was the understatement of the century, but she didn't care. _

_Her heart sank as he replied, his eyes clear and honest looking into hers, __"And I'm awfully glad to see you."_

_"You must tell me everything, what happened, how you survived, who rescued you, how long you've been –"_

_"Wait, hold on, miss!" Steve'e jocular comment turned awkward as he stopped short and flushed, amending, "I mean – Mrs –"_

_Peggy shook her head. "Miss." _

_Steve took another quick sip of his water and finished in a quiet voice,__"You're going way too fast. I didn't think a British person ever got that excited."_

_Now it was Peggy's turn to laugh as she looked at her lap again and admitted, __"Well, you've got to admit I forgot propriety in the heat of the moment." She met Steve's eyes. "You have no idea how I grieved for you."_

_Steve tried to resist the feelings of cynicism that arose as he looked about him at the obviously easy life she was leading here, and probably had been for some months. Peggy could read him like an open book, and said in a low voice, "I know what you're thinking. It's not what it seems."_

_"I don't think anything," The intonation he gave it brought Peggy's gaze snapping up to meet his, recalling the day she spoke those exact same words when she had suddenly come upon him in a compromising situation with Agent Lorraine... She hated to admit the jealously that had surged through her at that moment, and had masked it well, that is, until it manifested itself as blind anger in testing the vibranium Stark handed to him with a high-caliber revolver. What a fool she had been to ever be angry with Steve. And now he thought..._

_"I – I wish there was something I could say to alleviate your doubts in me, Steve, I really do," she said. "Mr. Stark simply would not –"_

_"It's none of my business, you don't have to give an account of yourself to me, Peggy," Steve said gently. "You moved on. It's exactly what I would have wanted, and you knew that."_

_"That's not exactly it," Peggy said, every word painful. "You know Mr. Stark. He gets an idea in his head and won't come off it. After – after your crash, he was the most sympathetic person you could imagine. He really admired and respected you, no matter how you felt toward him –"_

_"Do you think I hate him, or something?"_

_"I wouldn't blame you if you did."_

_"Peggy," Steve exclaimed, "You must think that I am some kind of darn fool to act like that. I know better. Yes, things didn't turn out like I hoped, but that doesn't stop me from being happy for you, and Stark, and your... family." His gaze unconsciously drifted southwards, and Peggy flushed, inhaling deeply. So the cat was out of the bag. True, they hadn't been having any sort of affairs at the point in time when the fondue misunderstanding arose, but Stark would not leave Peggy alone, and after making a point of coming and simply sitting in silence across from her at the Stork Club every Saturday night, Peggy gave in, and cried on his shoulder, locking up her feelings for Steve forever. Not long after that she gave in, and was persuaded to come and live with him in New York. Colonel Phillips was glad to let her go, having had little luck talking her into a leave of absence for the past year and a half they had worked together. What was a comforting relationship and a balm in her torn spirit turned into a full-fledged affair to Stark, and Peggy did not have the heart to resist him. Then she had fallen pregnant – Stark was overjoyed, and she hardly knew what to think. Oh, what Steve must think of her..._

_"I don't think that you're a darn fool or anything of the sort," Peggy shook her head, trembling as she took one of his hands in hers and bowed her head upon it. "I'm the one who has been a fool, and I wish that you could understand how much I hate myself for this."_

_"Peggy, don't beat up on yourself just because I came back. You owe me nothing, and if you love Stark –"_

_Tears filled Peggy's eyes. "That's just it, I don't think I –"_

_"Don't say that. I am not upset. I still love you, and that's probably wrong, but it's true."_

_"You must think I'm a shameless whore," Peggy burst out, before covering her mouth, and apologizing, "Oh, goodness, I shouldn't be saying that. Not to you."_

_Steve chuckled. "It's okay. I don't think that." He sobered quickly. "And I wish I'd never heard you call yourself that filthy word." He rose and pulled her up by her hands as well. "I am okay now – and we're together," He pulled her into a close embrace that took her breath away, "Even if there is a little something between us," he murmured into her shoulder, feeling with a strange thrill the curve of her womb against his waist. Peggy wrapped her arms around his strong back and held him close, cherishing the moment, and tasting the salt of the tears that trickled down her face. _

_"You are so good," she whispered._

_Howard Stark pulled his face away from the contraption through which he was viewing the goings-on of the room, and gritted his teeth. He was not insanely jealous – what Steve was getting was nothing new to him, for Peggy had given herself wholly to him – and he knew that she loved Steve. He practically heard her say that she did not love him, which gave him a little stab of pain somewhere in the left side of his chest, but didn't he already know that? A woman such as Peggy Carter did not find her worth in men and what they thought of her. It was the fact that Steve was defending him – was not bashing him or putting him down in any way; Steve was actually encouraging his old sweetheart to love someone else with an impossible amount of grace and forgiveness. It did not make sense. The offer from S.H.E.I.L.D., SSR's new name was in his hand – would he refuse to help his country's highest-tech agency, and his primary business association with a small favor? His own name signed across the bottom of the page glared at him, and so he picked up the telephone receiver and dialed the extension – the operator knew who he was the moment he started speaking._

_"Stark here. Any time now." And then he hung up, shaking from head to toe._

_Steve suddenly felt nervous as he followed Peggy's instructions, and felt her hand rest lightly on his shoulder. He did as he was told and took her right hand in his left, gingerly placing his other hand on her waist. He had not realized it, but his aim was off and he ended up with the palm of his hand against the side her stomach. Peggy reached down to help him find the proper place and froze as she realized he was staring intently at her middle._

_ For a moment she stood still, hardly daring to look at his face lest she meet his eyes, and heard him murmur, __"I can't believe a baby is growing in there."_

_Gently, she moved his hand and looked away to collect herself as Steve straightened, and prepared for their long-belated dance. _

_"You are going to do exactly the opposite of what I do," Peggy found herself saying, stepping back just as bit so they could watch their feet. "First, I'm going to step back –"_

_"And I'm going to step forward," Steve countered, stopping short as Peggy tapped the top of his foot with the toe of her shoe. _

_"Other one. There. And now we're going to step over this way and end up with your feet side by side." They moved in perfect unison, and Peggy broke into a smile. "Very nice. And now I'm going to go forward..."_

_"And I'm going to go back..."_

_"Yes. And then the other way, and feet together again." They stopped, and Steve broke into a smile as Peggy pulled her hand from his and stood before him, a bit red in the face._

_"That wasn't so bad," he admitted._

_"Not at all. You are a quick learner."_

_"Let's do it again," Steve said eagerly, grabbing her waist and hand, and murmuring, __"To the front, to the side, together, to the back, to the side, together..." They increased speed and were turning about the room rather well, Peggy thought, when suddenly the door flew open and in poured a squadron of black-clad men with automatic rifles the likes of which Steve had never seen._

_ Pushing Peggy behind him, Steve demanded, __"What is going on?" At a command, they surrounded him and began to try and wrestle him to the floor, Steve giving valiant resistance and shouting, "Don't hurt her! Don't hurt her!" as his head was forced farther and farther down to the ground. Suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his arm and a cold chill as something was injected into his bloodstream, and everything went black._

Steve awoke to a throbbing in his arm, and slowly opened his eyes, starting a little when he saw Bruce bending over him and withdrawing an emptied syringe from his bicep. He gave Steve a nod.

"You okay? You seemed to be having a rough time, but we finally got the results we needed after giving you nearly three times the amount it would take to keep a normal person under."

Steve shook his head, trying to clear it of the vivid hallucination.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just – had a weird dream – like a flashback, but then stuff started happening that – that didn't really happen."

"Oh," Bruce said. "That can't have been pleasant. Well, we're finished now. You'd better take it easy until this finishes running through your system, and then you should be back to normal. Anything I can get for you?"

Steve shook his head. "No – but I'd like to talk to Tony if he's not busy."


	21. Technicalities

"You'd think that a sign would be enough, but really..." Pepper was pretending to be more annoyed than she was, having opened the fridge and pulled out half a loaf of bread that was crispy enough to crumble up and substitute for croutons. It wasn't such a big deal, but Tony was fun to moan to...

"Seriously. It wasn't my fault. I never eat toast, or sandwiches, or anything like that." Seeing Pepper's look, he hurried to add, "Or if I do, then I never make it, so it's still technically not my fault." Giving her a smirk, he turned as Gwen Stacy entered the room and looked up from her tablet.

"Mr. Stark, I have a question of a … technical nature."

"Oh good, we were talking tech anyway." He jumped to his feet.

"I thought you were talking science – you know, amalopectin retrogradation, that kind of stuff."

Tony stared. "Say that again, and translate please?"

Gwen shrugged. "That's the fancy science way of saying bread is getting stale."

Pepper suppressed a laugh as Tony shook his head and went over to the blonde girl, crossing his arms over his arc reactor and querying, "So, what's the problem? Is it something in the lab? You know, technically it doubles as a workshop, and –"

"Mhm." Pepper cleared her throat. "I'll leave you two so you can get right to the point," she said.

"That's a pointed comment," Tony said, stabbing a finger in her direction. "I won't forget that one. Not ever."

"Technically, you'll remember it for approximately 38.8 seconds if it's in your short term memory," Gwen jumped in, unable to resist staying out of the fun. She and Peter joked that sarcasm was their love language. "If it's in your long term memory, then technically –"

"Oh, knock it off, science girl, and get to the point. Oops," Tony said, poking Pepper for real this time as she sauntered past. "Pointed comment."

"Ow." Pepper scowled, and said to Gwen, "So – what is it – technically?"

Gwen giggled, and began, "Well... since I have logged enough hours for the week already in the lab – tech – er... properly, am I allowed to have some time off for the rest of the day?"

"The rest of the day?" Tony scoffed. "The rest of the week, Tinker Bell. You've already logged all your hours by what – seven o'clock Tuesday night? You're off work, kid, go find your web-slinging boyfriend, go for a walk, knock yourself out."

"Technically speaking?" Pepper couldn't resist. Gwen gave Pepper a quick hug and stuck out her hand to Tony who ignored it bear-hugged her instead, causing her to grimace, but hug back. "Thanks – where's Peter, do you know?"

Pepper asked JARVIS, who replied, "Currently he is in Elevator 3."

"JARVIS has kind of a hot voice," Gwen said privately to Pepper who grinned, but Tony heard her and jumped in. "That's because I designed it and if I'm involved, then you know it's gotta scream hotness."

Just then Peter himself entered the room, and said cheekily, "Who screams hotness, you?" He grabbed Gwen, and said in an excited voice, "Did he let you off for the rest of the day?"

"The rest of the week," Gwen replied, and they squealed like a couple of kids and raced from the room together, leaving Pepper and Tony to shake their heads in their wake.

"So, what do you wanna do?" Peter demanded the moment they entered the elevator and Peter hovered his hand in front of the button panel. "Up? Down? Both?"

"Both," Gwen joked, and Peter rolled his eyes.

"Want to go somewhere else or stay here?"

"You had better stay here in case you are called to save the world," Gwen said, brushing him out of the way, and pushing the button to the private chambers floor "We can just hang out here. I don't care as long as we're together. I don't see you nearly enough."

"Wow, somebody's getting clingy," Peter joked, throwing his arm around her shoulder. "You know, that's not a very good thing, considering –"

"You know I'm not clingy!" Gwen pushed his arm away and glared at him. "Gosh, if I were really clingy, then wouldn't you know it."

The elevator dinged as they reached level and the doors slid open. After Peter finished showing off by pretending he had got the wrong door and accidentally-on-purpose used his sixth sense to hack into the pass-code of Thor's unoccupied room, they reached Gwen's chamber and promptly threw open the window to get some fresh air circulating about the cubicle.

"This is so funny – you've got it set up exactly like your old room," Peter commented from the bed where he sprawled, watching Gwen plop down in her computer chair and swivel in a smooth circle.

"I don't like a whole lot of extra stuff around, and I guess I just figured out an arrangement of things that works for me," she admitted. "I wasn't really trying to be non-creative."

"You weren't?" Peter teased.

Gwen changed the subject, asking him, "By the way, have you heard from Black Widow?"

Peter shook his head, running a hand through his unruly hair. "Not me personally, but Clint said he talked to her. I think he might have even infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D's security base and visited her too."

Gwen looked surprised. "Wow. These super-spies are pretty good, I guess."

"Anything for love," Peter sighed dramatically and put his hands behind his head.

Gwen gave him a funny look. "Are they together?"

Peter sat up and rubbed his face. "I don't know if they are or aren't together. I don't even think they know if they're together, but I think they'll get together one day."

Gwen nodded. "I see." Then she laughed. "That's so bizarre. You think you'd know if you loved someone or not."

Peter's face got serious. "Yeah, but that isn't necessarily reflected in whether you're together or not." He broke into a grin. "You know I liked you for a long time before we finally got together."

"Before you finally got the nerve to talk to me, you mean," Gwen said, brushing her bangs out of her eyes, silently laughing at him, and egging him on.

"Oh? If I remember correctly, it was you who talked to me first – you asked me what my name was after I –"

"You had a concussion. Let's not argue about that any more, just accept it. Besides, that's the only way to account for your subsequently crazy actions in trying to start something with me. I'm a nerd."

"But a hot nerd," Peter pointed out. "I'm joking, you –"

Gwen's face went blank. "Seriously? You finally give me a compliment, and then you tell me you were joking?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "No, it's just that I think there should be more to a girl than just hotness. You're not only incredibly pretty and nice, but you're also smart and you're not clingy, which is something that guys secretly hate."

"Really?" Gwen opened her eyes wide. "Wow. Well, I guess I'm glad I'm not clingy then. I do worry about you some, but I realize that you have your priorities in place and I don't want to come before that anyway. I wouldn't have it any other way."

Peter smiled and patted the bed next to him, inviting Gwen to take a seat. "I admire that about you, that you can see that. You're pretty great." He stifled a yawn, and aimed a swipe at her silky blonde ponytail. "I think I'll keep you."

"Oh, thanks," Gwen mocked, wrapping her arm about his narrow waist and sighing as they got comfortable in their favorite cuddling ritual. The room was gradually growing dimmer as the sun set and shadows danced over them, cast from the curtain waving in the breeze, and their conversations wandered from topic to topic, finally ending with Peter trying to pry an awkward story out of Gwen about a class she took once in school.

"I'm not going to leave you alone about it, you know," he badgered.

"I know – you're a pest."

"I just love funny stories, and it's not fair for you to bring up one and then not tell it."

Gwen covered her face and burst into a fit of giggles. "It's just too weird."

"Was it you?"

"No!" She exclaimed, twisting around to look at him. "It was this biology geek in the back who started–"

"Oh, so it is you!" Peter nodded wisely, yelping as Gwen gave him a playful whack on the chest.

"Careful, that's my sore spot," he said, wincing and touching the area gingerly.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't think of that," Gwen said, concern tugging at her brows. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Peter shifted on the bed, and brought the topic back to what Gwen wouldn't tell him. "What class was it anyway?"

"Er – sex ed," Gwen grimaced. "Now you really don't want to hear it."

"No, I do!" Peter insisted. "I skipped that one."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah – my Uncle Ben wasn't crazy about me hearing all of that stuff from some teacher in a crowd of other weird hormonal teenagers, so we had The Talk at home."

"The Talk..." Gwen grinned. "I never got The Talk, you know."

"You didn't?"

"No. My mom and dad were like, 'There is no way we're telling this kind of stuff to our baby girl until she gets married to this perfect guy' and so I just got it at school."

"Wow," Peter said, rubbing his face. "Poor you. Uncle Ben gave me the mini-version when I was like eleven, but I got the real deal when I was sixteen."

"Aw, you were so innocent," Gwen cooed, and Peter gave her a swat.

"It was the most embarrassing conversation in my entire life. He was a great uncle, just – that's enough to embarrass anybody. It scared me out of girlfriends completely until I met you."

"And then you were like, hey, look! It's not so bad," Gwen joked. Suddenly, she got serious. "Do you ever think about doing it?"

"No, never." Peter shook his head, suppressing a smile. "Of course."

"With me?"

He nodded in silence. "You?"

"Yeah." They were quiet for a moment, before Gwen added in a small voice, "I've never liked guys much at all until I met you. You're the only person I'd ever dream of doing it with."

Not one for awkward moments, Peter knew this could either get even awkwarder, or much easier, depending on which route they took. The trouble was, Gwen had the exact opposite ideas as he did as to the easier route...

"You know, I heard Mr. Stark talking to Pepper about the problems he thinks our relationship will suffer because there are only single and double beds on this floor," Gwen murmured as she closed her eyes and let Peter rub a hand down her back in slow circles. She entwined her fingers in his hair, and felt his chest quake with a tiny laugh.

"He needs to mind his own business. We'll prove him wrong yet." Peter was now fully convinced that Gwen's way was easier.

The night was much too short for both of them.


	22. Hulk Attack

Peter awoke the next morning, Gwen sleeping beside him, her light hair scattered over the pillows. As the sunlight played over her features he bent and placed a quick kiss on her soft lips.

"'Morning, sunshine," he whispered, easing himself out of bed and shimmying back into his clothes which were laying tangled among the sheets. Gwen stirred, and rolled over, smiling sleepily as she saw Peter's terrible case of bed-head just as he caught sight of it in the bathroom mirror and began to attack it with her hairbrush. Only making matters worse, he made a grumbling sound, and stretched his neck, wincing as his old bite throbbed.

"Do you have any Neosporin?" he asked, opening the mirror which hid a cabinet and surveying its contents.

"Now that's the perfect way to break a moment," Gwen murmured sleepily, buttoning up her shirt and swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

"No, really, this is brutal," Peter winced, tracing a finger over in inflamed scab on the back of his neck. "I don't know what's going on."

Gwen got up and crossed the room, putting a hand on her shoulder to examine his bite. "Wow, that looks... painful," she grimaced. "I don't have anything for it, I'm sorry."

Peter shrugged. "It's okay." His turned and met her eyes, shyness creeping into his gaze as he stroked a finger down her cheek. "You're … awesome."

Gwen looked away and smiled. "You too." They wrapped their arms around each other and squeezed until they both burst into breathless laughter, and Gwen said, "Are you going to wear that all day? You'd better go find something not so..." she trailed off. "I don't know. Used. You look like a thrift store exploded and you were caught in the middle of it."

Peter laughed in disbelief. "I look like an exploded thrift store? Thanks, Gwen."

"No, I mean, it's fine, it's just so wrinkled, and you wore it all day yesterday. Go put on your suit or something."

"You mean the suit I didn't wear to your house for dinner or the _other_ one?" He cocked his head and gave her a lopsided grin. Gwen rolled her eyes.

"Never mind – leave, I'm going to get dressed myself."

"It's not like it's a big deal... now," Peter gestured. "You kicking me out?"

Gwen hesitated, then nodded. "'I'm gonna shower."

"Yeah, I'd better too," Peter grumbled, running a hand backwards through his hair, ruffling it into some semblance of purpose. "I'd better get this under control."

Gwen gave him a quick kiss. "See you later, then."

"Alright. See you later." Peter let himself out, and shut the door behind him, unlocking the door to his own room, and pulling on his Spider-Man suit, covering it with his old clothes. Then he went out into the corridor, skipping like a second-grader and grinning like an idiot. He rounded the corner and nearly collided with –

"Oh! Hawkeye!" He exclaimed, putting on the brakes, and swerving past him, stumbling to a stop.

Hawkeye just stared at him like he had come from another planet, and crossed his arms. "Something good just happen?"

Peter nodded, and shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. "Yeah. Yeah, it did."

The Hawk nodded. "You look like it for some reason," he said flatly, and continued past him down the hall in long strides, entering his room, and shutting the door with a bang. Peter shook his head. That guy just really didn't like him, he guessed. Oh well, not going to let that ruin his good day. If anything was in danger of ruining his day, it was the headache beginning to tap at his temples and the persistent throbbing of the spider bite on his neck. It hadn't hurt this much since he was actually bitten, and he had no idea why it should be acting up now, unless it was just general inflammation throughout his body, which was not necessarily a bad thing, he had discovered...

"Morning, Peter," Steve greeted as he entered the breakfast room, and saw the Captain, Stark, and Bruce consuming various eatables at the bar, and chatting amiably. "Sleep well?"

"Not much, actually, but – er, I never sleep much," he hurried as Tony's gaze flashed to meet his and he realized it sounded like... exactly that. At least in Stark's ever eager imagination.

"Well, you look ready to meet the world," Bruce chuckled, always glad for Peter's fun personality and youthful vigor to brighten the room.

"I feel like it, too," Peter said, rocking up on his toes and then back down again. "What's on the menu?"

"Stark's Special – help yourself," supplied Tony around a mouthful of oatmeal which he had professed to hate until Pepper showed him how to boil it in coffee and add lots of cream and nutmeg. Now it tasted almost like eggnog, and he'd never admit it, but it was nearing the top of his list.

"Alright," Peter agreed. "Sound's like a deal." He quickly fried himself an egg, complying with Steve's request for another while he was at the skillet, and slid his plate over to an empty seat, plopping down and dumping salt and pepper all over his piping-hot breakfast.

"Where's Guinevere?" Tony asked slyly. Peter nearly choked on his mouthful of egg and coughed, squeaking,

"Wow – it's the pepper I guess." His face was red – from coughing, of course – but he took a drink of milk and cleared his throat.

"What did you say?"

"I said, where's Queen Guinevere?"

Peter shrugged. "I don't know. Sleeping, I guess."

Just then, Pepper entered the room barefooted and quiet and startled the guys. "Leave him alone, Anthony," she scolded. "Gwen's doing her work – I just saw her in the lab cleaning up your mess from yesterday."

Now it was Tony's turn to choke. "She's doing what?" He launched to his feet, overturning his chair, and dashed for the door. "I did that on purpose," he called over his shoulder, grabbing Pepper by the arm and dragging her out of the room with him, demanding, "Why are you letting her do that? That stuff isn't nearly finished, and if she start's moving it around then I swear I'll just –"

The rest of the team, soon joined by Clint, amused themselves with what Tony swore he would just do to Gwen, coming up with the most outlandish ideas, from bringing her with him to his next press conference and making suggestive remarks to making her dye her hair black and cut it off short.

Clint scowled. "Great. Then if she wears green and walks around with you and Thor people will think it's Loki."

Suddenly there was a flash of light, and the room grew still, a silence pervading the air until it was broken by a familiar chuckle.

"Well, if it isn't my old comrades..." They turned and beheld Loki himself, standing in the center of the room, dressed in his usual Asgardian garb, and doing the unforgivable – smiling his enticing smile. "It has been a while."

"What do you want, Loki," Bruce demanded evenly, standing, and crossing the room until they faced each other. "Because whatever it is, we're not likely to give it to you. Not after last time."

Peter watched in fascination, slowly slipping his hand up to feel the back of his neck where his bite continued to throb, and not taking his eyes from the dark-haired man in the middle of the room.

"Well, well, well, mention Asparagus and he appears," a voice said from the doorway – Loki turned to see Tony standing there with his arms crossed. "To what do we owe the honor?"

It gave Peter just the distraction that he needed to ease himself out of his seat, duck behind the bar and slip off his outer clothing. He pulled his hood down over his unruly hair and adjusted it so the eye openings were properly in place.

"So, you still consider it an honor to have me here?" Loki raised his eyebrows and nodded slowly. "I was beginning to wonder why I hadn't received a return invitation."

"Seriously?" Peter stood up, and Loki took a shocked step backwards, taking in the wiry red and blue figure that slowly approached him. "After what you did, you think they'd want you back?"

Loki bared his teeth. "You don't know what I did – you weren't here, you –"

"Spider-Man." Peter stuck out his hand. "Nice to meet you."

Loki glared. "I have not come on an idle pleasure visit. Where is Thor?"

"It seems you're playing a game of tag throughout the universes, Loki," Steve spoke up, cocking his head. "First Thor's looking for you, now you're looking for him."

Loki pointed a narrow finger in his direction. "Don't make jokes to me, man with a plan. It comes as no surprise that Thor seeks me in vain, but my powers are nearly limitless, and the only explanation as to why he still remains hidden from me is you." He turned to point at Tony. "The Man of Metal has many ways of using his knowledge to produce results akin to magic here in Midgard."

"Hey, Pepper, hear that? The god of mischief says that I'm almost as good as a Midgardian con artist," Tony called over his shoulder, advancing, and tapping his chest. "You see this?"

Loki sneered. "Your pride and joy."

"My baby. Keeps me alive, and more or less gives me the abilities that I have. That guy – " he nodded toward Spider-Man, "That guy's the real deal. Genetics give him his abilities."

"And hormones," grumbled Clint. Loki's gaze swiveled to lock with the Hawk's.

"So – you are feeling... how shall I put this... weary? Weary of being a part of this team of freakish mortals? At least you understand why I found it irksome here."

"Except you know exactly why I find it irksome now," Clint hissed. "This is all your fault."

Loki shrugged. "A common sentiment – I don't mind if you adopt it." He looked around him in mock surprise. "Where is Lady Natasha?"

"I'll bet you know, Mr. All-Knowing Fella," Steve said, crossing his arms. "And if you don't, then it's none of your business."

Loki sucked in a breath. "Oh, but you know it is exactly my business."

Spider-Man lifted his hands. "Somebody want to explain what's going on here? Where's Clark – I'm tired of feeling like a junior on Senior's Night."

"We're not going to talk about that now," Tony said quickly. "We are going to find out what Loki wants, and I'll bet I already know. Tesseract still on your wish list?"

"I am daily closer to acquiring it."

"Said that seven months ago." Tony counted on his fingers. "-Eight."

"I have told you what I want – I want Thor, and if you are unable to provide me with any information concerning him, then I'm afraid I will have to – "

"What? Blow up New York City again? Break my Tower? I don't think so." Tony shook his head. "We don't know where Thor is. To prove it, we even got him a replacement."

"Easy, Stark," Steve said under his breath.

"No, it wasn't easy," Tony retorted. "It was hard. If you want to know how much work it took for me to find someone who could fill in for those two – your bench-pressing brother and this, uh – " He skidded to a halt, seeing Bruce's glare. "Secret agent you seduced... then let me tell you, it was a nightmare of –"

Loki lowered his head but not his gaze as he said in a hushed voice, laden with anger and suppressed emotion, "If you will not provide me with information concerning Thor, then so be it. But what of Natasha."

It was not a question. Tony' jaw dropped in disbelief. "You honestly think we are going to tell you anything about her?"

"- If we knew anything?" Clint broke in.

Loki stared at him. "Ah..." he breathed. "But we do." He took a step toward Clint who put his hand quickly to the gun strapped to his thigh.

"That's enough," Bruce interrupted. "You guys are seriously going to regret this. Especially if you get me involved."

Clint observed with shock that sweat had broken out on Bruce's forehead, and his neck had a faint green tinge to it, his chest heaving with deep gasps of air.

"Guys, let's just – drop it," he began, but Loki continued, advancing on Hawkeye, his eyes glowing with jealous rage:

"I know everything about you, Barton, I know more than you know yourself. Remember, I was in your mind, once. And I could see everything that was there, all those things locked up in secret chambers and ignored by even you!"

"That was not me, Loki, that was the evil influence of your mind on mine, and I had no more control over that than a mouse does over the cat that plays with it." Clint regretted more than anything not having put an arrow through Loki's eye socket last year when he had the chance.

"Uh – guys, let's – take this conversation elsewhere," Tony began, panic rising in his chest as he saw Bruce's hands clench and his eyes squeeze shut as he gasped for air and his knees began to buckle from beneath him.

"What's wrong with him?" Spider-Man demanded. "What's happening to him?"

"Seriously, let's just –" Tony's final remark was drowned out by the Hulk's deafening roar as he rose before them in all his terrible rage. Loki gulped. He recalled the last time he had been in Stark Tower with the Hulk, and it had not been a pleasant experience.

Steve grabbed Spider-Man by the shoulder and pulled him back out of the way as Tony hurriedly instructed his AI, "JARVIS, make sure that wherever Gwen and Pepper are, that they stay there, and under no circumstances come into the –"

"You are a liar!" the Hulk bellowed at Loki, the force of his breath nearly knocking him over.

"And you are an oaf!" Loki screamed back, taking a deep breath as the Hulk lowered his head to charge. Out of nowhere a red and blue figure blasted, crashing right through the transparent illusion of Loki and right into Hulk's path.

"Peter!" Steve shouted, but it was too late – they collided just as Loki vanished completely, the Hulk's head burying itself into Peter's middle and carrying him across the room where he flew through the glass doors and crumpled into a heap in the hallway. He took a gasping breath and looked up, seeming to see Loki once again before him.

"Get back–" he managed, getting only an echo of Loki's laughter in return.

Tony shouted, "No, kid! You don't know what's he's done!"

And then it was over – Bruce shrank back to his normal size and color, and was left shaking, and naked in the corner of the lounge, attended to by Clint with a throw blanket, as Tony and Steve waded through the broken glass to grab a hold of Peter and haul him out of harm's way. Peter groaned as Steve took a fistful of his suit and pulled while Tony bent over him, and yanked off his mask.

"You okay?" He stopped short – Peter looked awful – both his lips were split and running blood, while a huge kiwi-sized lump was forming on his brow. His suit was slashed by the broken glass, and his legs were twisted grotesquely under him...

"Yeah, I think so," Peter wheezed, sucking in a breath as Tony grabbed him around the waist and pulled him into an upright position. "I – I think that was probably a bad idea."

Steve's face was the picture of concern. "Peter, Loki is evil, and he has no business being here. You're not supposed to try and save him."

"I didn't know that," Peter muttered, standing unsteadily, and flickering a quick gaze around him. "Where did that thing go?"

"Here," Clint spoke up from the corner where he guided Bruce to a chair, and watching him put his face into his shaking hands. "It was an accident."

Just then, the sound of hurried footsteps and quick breathing were heard, cut short by the crunch of glass underfoot, and a gasp. Gwen stood frozen in the doorway, before bolting through, ignoring Steve's cries of caution, and kneeling at Peter's side.

"Oh my gosh, what just happened?" she implored, taking Peter's face in her hands as he gave her a pained lopsided grin, which turned into a grimace as he lifted a hand to feel his rapidly swelling forehead.

"JARVIS, I told you to keep Miss Stacy and Pepper downstairs!" Tony exploded to the artificial intelligence system. "How in the –"

"Not now, Tony," Pepper's voice stopped him, as she too hurried in, taking in at a glance the half-naked doctor shaking in the chair, the broken glass, the injured teenager being checked over by his girlfriend... "What just happened?"

"Loki stopped in for a visit," Tony snapped, causing Pepper to gasp.

"No – are you serious?"

Tony nodded, and ran a hand through his hair. "Peter, let's get you to the infirmary – you too, Bruce... show's over, guys–"

"I'm fine," Bruce began weakly, but Tony pointed a finger at him.

"No, sir. Down you go. Let's get somebody in here to start cleaning up this mess."

Pepper and Steve immediately started arguing about which of them was not going to get down on their hands and knees among broken glass while Gwen helped Peter to the elevator, followed by Clint with Bruce, and Tony bringing up the rear. The doors opened, to reveal Clark, who stared in shock.

"Did I miss something?" he managed at last.

"Move it, we're on a mission here," Tony said, "Pepper or Spangle-britches will explain. We're out of Chex, too, by the way, if that's what you were thinking."

"Are you gonna be okay?" Gwen whispered into Peter's ear as the doors shut and the elevator began to move. He nodded slowly, and then leaned in for a kiss, his broken lips gingerly touching hers.

"Always," he whispered back.


	23. Natasha's Flashback

Clint stayed stuck his head in the infirmary several more times that day to check up on the attacker and his victim, and then took out his anger at Loki's visit with a few hours of target practice in the range Stark had designed especially for him on one of the upper floors. He didn't believe Loki's visit was really about Thor for a minute. He tried to ignore Loki's words which kept playing through his head, and focus his attention on what he was doing, but after he hit the target a fraction of a centimeter off-center three times in a row and checked his bow, he realized that it was indeed, him. He was off – literally. It was probably owing to the day's earlier events, but still, even as night fell and he realized there was nothing left he could do except take a shower and go to bed, he couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that settled in his joints and flickered on the insides of his eyelids when he forced them shut and tried to induce sleep.

It very nearly worked when his cell-phone began buzzing on the side table and reached for it, rubbing his stinging eyes and looking at the screen which lit up and displayed Natasha's number. He quickly sat up and answered, his voice eager.

"Natasha!"

"Hi." There was a long pause, and Clint's ears strained for her voice over the connection. "Well – what's going on?" He finally demanded.

Natasha sounded like she was clenching her jaw as she finally replied, "Clint – it's happening."

His mind quickly registered what she meant. "How long has it been going on?"

There was another long pause, and she said, her voice strange, "Since about nine o'clock this morning."

_The time of Loki's visit,_ Clint realized. "Why in the world have you been waiting this long? Are you at the hospital?"

"We're on our way," she said.

Clint rolled his eyes and cursed under his breath. "You are crazy to wait like this. Do you want me to come?"

"No." Her answer was quick, hard, and cold. Her voice had the edge of steel. "No, don't come."

"Alright. I won't. Are you okay?"

There was another long pause, and then he could hear Natasha take a long gasping breath. "It hurts worse than anything I've ever been through."

His throat ached – he wanted to be there with her, to hold her hand... "I'm sorry," he found himself saying. "But don't worry, you'll be fine. Remember – this means it's almost over. Everything's in place."

There was another long silence, broken only by the sound of her breathing. Finally she forced out, through her teeth, no doubt. "I can't do this."

"Yes, you can," he urged. "Gosh, Nat, you have been through hell, and I mean that. Women do this every day around the world –"

" Barton – you're not helping me," she said, her voice increasing in pitch.

"Okay – what I meant was you aren't an ordinary woman. You can do this. You have to. I know that you can." There was no reply, and he asked, "Do you want me to stay on with you?"

There was a commotion on the other end of the line, and Natasha breathed, her voice as light and thin as a puff of air, "No – we're here now."

"Alright. Call me when it's over. Or after you've rested a bit. Okay? That's an order, Agent."

Natasha nodded as she was helped from the car, and then realized that he couldn't hear her nod. "Okay," she managed. "I've got to go, bye." There was a click, and the connection went dead.

Clint stared into the darkness of his room, his mind whirling multiple directions, each at a thousand miles per hour. He set his phone on the side table and got up, pulling on his clothes just in case. Then he just sat on the edge of his bed and waited.

"Natasha – we're going to put you under now. This is the only way – okay? We want this to be as safe as possible for both you and the baby," a face bent over Natasha was saying. She gritted her teeth as another stab of pain hit, this one so long she gasped for breath before it was over, and thought she simply couldn't make it through another.

"Remind me again what you're going to do," she said through clenched teeth as vial was screwed into the I.V. they attached to her arm.

"It's basically like a Cesarean section – your uterus is damaged and is not in a good enough condition to sustain a normal birth."

Natasha nodded. "Alright –" She intended to say, "Bring it on," but she was out before the words left her lips...

_The snow was thick upon the ground, hiding the grime of the streets, and making the city look almost beautiful. The biting wind had died down, and the frigid temperature was the only thing keeping the people of St. Petersburg off the streets this evening. _

_A small red-headed figure swathed in a too-large coat, a too-short scarf, and tattered pants tucked into beaten-in boots hurried down the sidewalk, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, hiding her bare and wind-chafed hands in her armpits, and not looking to the right or left as she walked. Her foot bumped against something hard hidden in the snow and she stumbled, her arms flying out to regain her balance as she cursed under her breath, and continued on her way, a glare firmly set on her young face. _

_A pair of deep blue eyes seemed to hover before her vision. Alexei Shostakov, Soviet test pilot. The man she was engaged to marry. The KGB may not have been a good replacement for parents – she still had nightmares about the factory fire, the burning inferno, the screams, and the smoke that all the brainwashing and false memories she had been endowed with before deployment could not erase – but Department X sure knew how to match up people. She knew it was for the good of Russia, and therefore it would be for her good as well. Although sometimes she had trouble understanding what good even was anymore. _

_Natalia Alianova Romanova was her name, but from a very early age she answered to the alias of Black Widow, derived from the name of the training op that conditioned her for espionage and combat, bio-technically and psycho-technically altering her to serve her country. And she couldn't be prouder. She would never admit to it anyone, but though she did love her country, she had entertained brief ideas of romance with a foreigner, one of her mentors, who went by the name of the Winter Soldier. She had first discovered him when he was in cryogenic stasis at KGB headquarters. She cringed to think of the primitive methods she had used in releasing him, and as a result, got them both caught. Eventually he became her tutor, and the only pity that was not trained out of her she secretly held on to and lavished on him, for his mind had been damaged by his past life, and he had no memories whatsoever, nor could he recall information for more than a few days. After being sent on a special operation, Natalia had returned to find that the Winter Soldier had no idea who she was, and she gave up on the ideas of romance she had unconsciously fostered, killing them and filling every void in herself with duty. And that is exactly what the Red Room division of the KGB wanted. _

_Now, they had decided that a union between the two – this special forces agent who at the age of fourteen already had a blossoming reputation as a femme fatale, and this duteous young test pilot – would be of great advantage to them. Although the girls brainwashed by the Red Room usually underwent sterilization as a side effect of the serum with which they were injected – a variant on Hydra's famous super-soldier serum – one could never be certain. The girls were never told this, but a marriage would be a strong bond in more ways than one. A perfect link between divisions._

_They met the previous week. Alexei was the farthest thing from a romantic that one could imagine, but this girl found a way of arousing something in him with that mysterious trickery of hers that she could use on the most reticent of victims. And she found his gaze hypnotic and pleasing. _

_Although forbidden to use each others' real names, Shostakov had whispered after they were given the papers proving they were legally married, __"Natalia," in her ear briefly as they parted._

_And she had mouthed, __"Alexei," back to him, and stood sober and silent on the runway until his plane lifted off and was out of sight in the gray winter sky._

_Natalia turned down an alleyway, and pushed through a broken chain-link fence, weaving her way through nondescript rubble and debris blown from all over the city by the strong chill wind until she reached a grating hidden in a rough wall, and let herself through. _

_The corridor was dark and damp, the cinder block floor making no sound underneath her quiet tread as she crossed a large room lit by yellow electrical lights mounted on the walls, and ascended a rickety metal staircase in the gloom. Shostakov was waiting for her at the top. _

_"I thought you were going to be away for months," she said, crossing her arms, and keeping her voice low._

_"They don't have to tell you what is going on. They don't have to tell me. Give me a kiss." He pulled her into an embrace that drove the chill ache from her bones and poured warmth through her body right down to her toes. She touched her lips to his, and he held her there for a long moment before releasing her, and beckoning for her to follow him. He disappeared out an open window and scaled the side of the building, looking up as Natalia's strong lithe form appeared dark against the snow following his example, and landing with a thump beside him. He grasped her wrists and lifted her up so that her feet rested on the tops of his boots, and holding her around the waist, strode quickly through the snow, leaving one set of footprints. He did not release her until they were in a cleverly disguised aircraft hangar, and then she clambered up into the open cockpit of as USSR plane, Alexei doing the same. They sat in the cramped space in silence, their breath making puffs of fog in the air before them._

_"You're going again?" she said at last._

_He nodded. "You are too, only somewhere else. Budapest, I think."_

_"You should mind your own business." This time she kissed him, but he turned away. _

_"And I won't be coming back."_

_Natalia's fine eyebrows drew together. "You don't know that. Did they tell you?_

_He nodded. "I'm sorry. You'll be alright."_

_Now it was her turn to nod. Suddenly, he seized her arms. __"Come with me. You can stow in the extra fuel compartment."_

_"No. I can't. I have work here." There was a brief pause, and then she asked, "What happened to you?"_

_Alexei shook his head. "I fell in love." _

_"Love is for children," she muttered, and he met her eyes._

_"And you are...?"_

_"I'm the Black Widow."_

_"It will be true now." _

_She climbed out of the cockpit and onto the wing, turning, and meeting his deep blue eyes one last time._

_"You do your duty to Russia, and I'll do mine," he said, giving her a rare smile._

_She nodded. "In that, we'll be together."_

_A fleeting shadow passed over his face. "That doesn't matter. As long as we do our duty. We will always be in debt, and the most we can give is not enough. Not even together."_

_With a jolt, the propellers on his plane started up, and Natalia jumped from the wing, striding off across the hangar without a backward glance._


	24. Budapest

"_Natalie Rushman." She nodded. "Sounds American."_

_"It is you that must sound American," the voice on the other end of the wire snarled. "You are our best assassin, and our only chance." _

_Natasha – she had changed her name years ago, abbreviating it to Romanova, since she never really took the name Shostakov anyway – broke into a string of perfectly American sounding English that was lost upon her listener. _

_He scoffed. __"Let's hope that was good."_

_"It was," Natasha answered calmly. "Do you want me to do Italian, Polish, or Latin next?" There was a sigh of frustration, and she smiled. _

_"Just get it done. Don't report back until you're in."_

_"Understood," she snapped, and hung up. Stark Industries. This was going to be interesting. _

_Aboard the unmarked plane taking her to the U.S., Natasha reviewed all the information she had been given about Stark Industries – its founder, its __key innovations, its current contracts– as well as rested. She was going to lose eight hours in time zones during the flight, and tried to get some shut-eye along the way, but somehow she was not surprised when sleep did not come. They were 35,000 feet above Budapest when there was a commotion in the cabin, and the plane shuddered. Natasha sat up in her chair and kicked her bag out of the way, nearly toppling off her feet when she stood in the aisle as the plane began a steep descent. Something was definitely wrong._

_"What's going on?" she demanded, hammering on the door to the cockpit, and receiving no response. Using a small device on her utility belt, she quickly disengaged the lock and shoved open the door, taking in the sight before her. The instrument panels were damaged, and one was flashing haphazardly as the KGB pilot sat slumped over in his chair, his headset askew. Then she saw him – a short-haired man dressed in black with an eagle insignia on his sleeve – holding an automatic pistol, and armed with every sort of weapon one could imagine. He advanced on her, but Natasha quickly subdued him with a well-aimed punch and a kick to his soft spot. He doubled over groaning and gasping for breath, as she wrenched his arms behind his back._

_"What is going on?" she demanded again. _

_"This plane has to come down," he managed._

_"Idi k chertu," she snapped. "Why are you doing this? Who are you?"_

_"You'll find out – in Budapest," he growled. She gave him a shove into the aisle of the plane's main cabin and slammed the door behind her, lifting the dead pilot out of the way, and taking control of the cockpit. A silent co-pilot had been watching the whole thing in quiet horror, and he spoke at last as Natasha took her eyes off the instrument panel long enough to snatch the headset from the pilot's skull and put it on, quickly wiping away the trickle of blood that ran down from her temple:_

_"Do you know how to fly this?"_

_"You bet I do," she replied. "Now, take a seat, this is going to be a bumpy ride." Moments later a timed grenade detonated itself in the right wing, causing the plane to lurch dangerously as it lost altitude._

_"We are going to die, we are going to die," chanted the co-pilot, trembling uncontrollably and shaking his head back and forth, squeezing his eyes shut. "We are going to die –"_

_"Shut up," Natasha barked. "If somebody wants us to pay a visit to Budapest, then Stark is just going to have to wait. Obviously, this was meant to happen."_

_"Who was that man? How did he get here?" _

_"We'll figure it out later," Natasha said, focusing her gaze on the control panel and answering the prompt on her headset, __"Altitude 13,000 feet and dropping, give me a soft landing site." She added, "And contact the base, this will give us some delay."_

_"Do you duty, Romanova," the voice at the other end instructed. "Vanko will do his."_

_"Bozhe mo__ĭ__," she muttered as they broke through the clouds and the ground raced toward them..._

_Natasha emerged from the wreckage and immediately tried to contact the Russian base, but her communicator's signal had been knocked out in the explosions following the crash, and it was about all she could do to drag the traumatized co-pilot from the wreckage and give him a shove toward the city, saying, __"Start walking. Have you been trained for this or not?"_

_She waded in among the crunched remains of the smoking debris and located the assassin, grabbing him by an arm, and yanking him free of the ruined plane. His black uniform caught on a jagged piece of metal and tore as he remained unresponsive while Natasha threw him onto the grass and examined his face from which blood ran. He did not move. Natasha turned away. Dead men gave no answers to her questions, she had discovered. Drat._

_The tall pointed spires of the city rose before her in the setting sun's glow, and it would have all been picturesque except for the burns and bruises she had sustained, the flaming plane behind her, and the fact that she was sent on a mission and crash landed 1,747 km out, less than a fourth of the way to her destination._

_The Danube river divided the city into two parts, and Natasha set out on foot, crossing the Chain Bridge after a long walk, and looking around her at the historical buildings mixed in with modern structures. It reminded her of her hometown, rather, what she had been told was her hometown. Memories were deceptive. She wondered what New York City would be like really – she had studied pictures and maps until she could almost convince herself she lived there, but still, atmosphere goes a long way, and it isn't something you can get from 2D images._

_Pedestrians thronged around her, and some of them gave her strange looks which she pretended not to notice as she hurried on through the crowds, trying to shake the feeling that someone was following her. Several times she turned around ready to detonate a volley of kicks or punches at any nosy local, but each time she did it, she only got more funny looks. She set her jaw and walked on._

_Natasha didn't stop until she reached a long stretch along the river that contained a series of high-end hotels, and after helping herself to an abandoned old-fashioned iverness tossed over the back of a bench and throwing it on over her scorched clothing, she walked into the lobby of one that bore the name "Sofitel" in bright letters on the top of the tower._

_She showed her false identification, choosing to go ahead with the Natalie Rushman, new personal assistant to Tony Stark of Stark Industries en route to New York ploy, and got herself checked into a room in one of the higher floors. There she was able to sit in peace and quiet and decide what should be done – and watch the flashing lights and sirens make their way out of the brightly-lit city to the wreck site._

_"They have no idea..." she muttered to herself, stopping short as she heard a click, and a voice spoke, hard and determined._

_"Stand up and put your hands over your head." _


	25. SHIELD's Best Agents

_Natasha froze, and slowly turned from the window to see the man – the man that hijacked the Soviet plane – the man drug from the wreckage whom she thought was dead... She cursed under her breath, cursing herself for not checking his vital signs before leaving him at the site. Blood still stuck to the side of his head, and one of the sleeves of his black uniform had been completely torn away. She was face to face with the point of an arrow set firmly on the bowstring drawn back to his jaw._

_"What will you do if I don't?" she asked calmly, giving him the alluring gaze that so often did a double-take on certain men. "I don't really feel like it."_

_"Against the wall, then." He was unfazed. "And take off the coat." _

_She crossed her arms as he drew closer, the the automatic light on his bow's grip glowing red in the gloom. __"Is this payback for what I did to you on the plane? There's four walls in here, mister, how am I supposed to –"_

_"There." He pointed quickly with his arrow, and then trained it back on her. "Do it."_

_Slowly, Natasha rose to her feet, and went and stood with her back against the far wall, shedding the iverness as she went, and putting a little swing in her walk. _

_The man lowered his bow, but kept the arrow fitted securely on the string, saying in an even voice, __"Natalie Rushman, isn't it? Or should I say, Natasha Romanov?"_

_"How do you know this," she growled, beginning to advance on him, reaching for her hidden stiletto, but he quickly raised his bow, the arrow making a metallic noise as it was redrawn and aimed at her neck._

_"I wouldn't do that if I were you. We have been tracking you for some time."_

_"Who's we?"_

_"S.H.I.E.L.D."_

_"Sounds like a great organization. Too bad I won't be learning any more about them," Natasha said, meeting his gaze. "Go on. Just get it over with."_

_Something flashed through his eyes, and it took Natasha a moment to realize that it was not shock at how nonchalantly she faced death. _

_"You will be learning more about them," he said in a low voice. "You are being recruited as their newest secret agent."_

_"Thanks, but I already have a job."_

_"Remember the conditions?" He raised his eyebrows, and at last she nodded, realizing there was literally nothing else she could do. She hated the feeling. The man lowered his bow, and replaced the arrow in the quiver slung across his back, producing a pair of handcuffs._

_"Turn around." _

_She did so, and heard him mutter as he attached them onto her wrists, "I could very well lose my job over this."_

_"Then why are you doing it?"_

_He spun her around until they were nose to nose, and she could smell the sour-sweet scent of the dried blood on the side of his face. They locked eyes for a long time until finally he looked away, and gave her a push. __"Start walking."_

_Natasha glared at the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents that lined the hallways of the hotel as she was escorted to a waiting black car, and put in the back seat. Her captor took his place in the passenger's side and she heard the driver ask in a low voice, __"Barton, you were sent to kill this assassin?"_

_"Just drive," Natasha heard him mutter back..._

_For a moment Natasha's eyes opened and she could not remember where she was. Still she would awake from a nightmare, having no idea where she was, or what had happened to get her there. This was one of those times... being recaptured by the Red Room, and resuming her mission to Stark Tower, trying to pit her rescuer against Iron Man... being reconditioned and brainwashed yet again only to at last break free with the help of Hawkeye, the ever-faithful... and now, she didn't know just what was going on. Her entire body ached, and a bright light was blinding her from every direction it seemed. She took a deep breath and pressed her eyes back shut again as she heard someone enter the room, and let herself slip back into oblivion..._

_The rest of her thoughts blurred as the city of Budapest flashed by her and she had no idea what happened – if she passed out, or if she went back to sleep – because for a moment she was in an incredible amount of pain and she thought she was getting her wounds attended to, but then she heard the sounds of gunfire, and opened her eyes. Hawkeye bent over her, his gaze intense._

_"Tash, get up. More are coming. Are you okay?"_

_It took her a moment to realize he had called her "Tash " – a new nickname. Over the next year as she was trained for work undercover for S.H.I.E.L.D. with Barton, the two had developed a strange sort of friendship, and although she would have knocked out anyone who may have tried to be romantic or familiar with her after her experiences with the Winter Soldier and Shostakov, for some reason she allowed Barton to do it. It sounded right coming from him – all the other times it had just been wrong. _

_He helped her to her feet and she blinked, assessing the situation as she tried to ignore the searing pain in her stomach. She pressed a hand to it and it came away sticky with dark blood._

_"We have to stop them," she panted, and so there they stood, side by side, taking the fire of an enemy army, and together feeling the rush of impending victory in their veins. The Hawk did not regret sparing Agent Romanov's life, and she had proved to be valuable indeed, in more ways than one..._

_She felt like she stood up too quickly, and when her vision cleared, she was in a quiet room..._

_Natasha sat in silence next to Clint as he wept. She knew that he could not hear her, the sonic blast rendering him temporarily deaf, something the doctors assured him would pass in time, a matter of weeks, even, but she lay a hand on his heaving shoulders and simply let her presence soothe him. Bobbi Morse, know to all as Mockingbird, Clint's wife, had been killed in the blast from one of his own sonic arrows, and Clint insisted, his voice strange, that he could never forgive himself. Too late he had realized what was happening and he leapt into the building to try and snatch the arrow away and pitch it out a window before it detonated, but Bobbi was there first, her eyes wide, grasping the arrow, just as it blew. She had been trying to save his life. And he had killed her._

_"Shhh..." Natasha whispered, her fingers going to and fro over the back of his neck as he took deep trembling breaths. "It was just a dream."_

_"No – it was real," he said, sitting up, and meeting her gaze with red tear-blurred eyes. "It really happened."_

_"But it was several weeks ago,"she murmured. "And they want you back out on the field as soon as your hearing is recovered."_

_Clint shook his head. "I can just barely hear you," he choked. Natasha's heart ached for him, and now more than ever she wished that she was not the way that she was – a hardened warrior, a ruthless assassin. That type didn't make a very good comforter or grief counselor. _

_"It was not your fault," she said at last, repeating it for him when he turned in confusion. "It was not your fault." _

_He shook his head, burying his face in his hands. "Yes, it was. Now, stop saying that. I will deal with this in my own way, in my own time."_

_And Natasha knew he was right. _

Natasha's eyes flew open, and her mind reeled – Clint – Bobbi... why did she feel like she had just been run over by a truck...

"Hey, there," a face bent over her. "You doing alright? Can I get you anything?"

"Is it over?" she managed, reaching down and realizing that she was ...smaller. The doctor nodded.

"Everything went well. You still abide by your earlier wishes? You don't want to see –"

"No." Her gaze went still. "Where is it?"

"In the neonatal I.C.U. He sustained a slight neck trauma during the procedure," the doctor said.

_He. _Natasha squinched her eyes closed and gritted her teeth. _Just shut up, _was what she was thinking, but she managed a nod, and then said, "Hand me my phone? There's someone I need to call."


	26. Pepper's Advice

The Team returned later that day with grave faces, and talked heatedly among each other while going about their preparations which looked to be for something serious. Peter knew they would tell him when he needed to know, even though he was tempted to feel a little out of it, since Clark had gone with them and was obviously in on the action.

He betook himself to one of the higher levels of the tower, and stood in a window-walled room which housed Tony's state-the-art bar and overlooked NYC. As he admired the superb view, he heard the door open behind him, and guessed correctly- Gwen. Peter nearly tripped on a plaque at his feet that was just barely raised from the glossy newly-replaced flooring. It read "A GOD WAS HULK SMASHED HERE." Peter chuckled ruefully to himself. He knew the feeling. Too late, he realized Gwen was talking to him. She tapped him on the shoulder, bringing him out of his reverie:

"Peter? What do you think?"

He shook his head to clear his foggy thoughts, and grinned at her. "What? I'm sorry, I didn't hear that."

"I said, do you want to come with me on a walk? We could go to the park for a little bit."

Peter noticed that there was something up with Gwen in the way that she said it, so he turned to face her. "What is it?"

She shook her head, her eyes wide. "Nothing. Why do you ask?"

"You're weird. We never go on walks."

"Well, I feel like it today. The fresh air will be nice – if you want to go, that is," she hedged.

Peter shrugged. "Sure, if that's what you want."

"You sure you're up to it?"

He laughed. "Stop worrying about me."

"Hey, JARVIS, we're headed out for a little while," Peter called as they crossed the lobby on the ground floor of the tower. "Just in case anyone's wondering what happened to us. We'll be back before dark."

"Very good, Mr. Parker."

Peter grimaced at Gwen, and then winced.

"What is it?" she asked, concerned.

"Headache," he replied. "It'll be okay though."

"You're just falling apart, aren't you," Gwen teased as they stepped forth onto the busy streets of New York City and took off in the direction of the park. "Tell me if you want to go back."

Peter considered. "I want to go back. I didn't say goodbye to everybody, and I'd kinda like to see Black Widow one more time."

Gwen rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean. We don't have to walk fast," she hurried to add as Peter's pace increased.

"Well, we did promise to be back before dark," Peter said. "If we want to be at the park for any time at all we'd better hurry, unless you just want to take it easy."

"I don't feel like walking fast," Gwen said quietly. "We'll get there when we get there."

Peter stopped and turned to face her. "Are you coming down with something too? What's wrong? Usually you're all for the brisk walking and I can barely keep up with you."

Gwen shook her head. "I – I don't want to wear you out."

Peter realized that he was probably annoying her so he dropped the topic and they made their way through the city, chatting at intervals, and just taking in the hustle and bustle around them. Finally, the inviting green of the park opened up before them, and they joined the other people strolling along the twisting sidewalks or sitting on blankets and benches. They reached a bench underneath a large planetree and Gwen took a seat, Peter following her example.

"So, what's this really about?" Peter's brown eyes met hers shining honest in the light of the setting sun. Gwen looked away, watching the passersby in the park, and letting her gaze linger on a couple holding hands as they walked in the auburn evening light.

"I'm not fooling you, am I," she said softly, making a sound similar to a laugh, even while her face was sober and her eyes were large with pent-up thoughts and feelings.

"Should you be?"

She shook her head. "No. But let's just hope that everybody else doesn't know me as well as you do."

Peter took her hand and kissed it, leaning in close to her, and reaching his arm around the back of the bench. "You wanna talk about it?"

"No," she laughed hoarsely, tucking her face under his chin. "But I'd better." She pulled out of his embrace and turned to face him on the bench. Peter's eyebrows lifted and he resisted the urge to smile at her serious behavior... whatever it was –

"Peter –" She met his eyes and took both his hands, and Peter's heart sank, as he thought – this is it, she is going to break up with me... my worst fear is finally –

Gwen looked away and took a deep breath, her hands shaking almost imperceptibly in his.

Peter took his hand away and quickly scratched his forehead before returning it, and saying in a low voice, "It's okay – I understand if you –"

"No – no..." Gwen shook her head vehemently, and when she stopped, Peter saw that her eyes were glowing through a veil of tears. "It's not that. It's–"

Peter leaned in and rested his forehead against hers, feeling her shake, and her voice drifted up to him in the cool evening breeze.

"I think I might be pregnant."

Peter froze, and he could practically feel her heart sink in her chest. He shut his eyes, and then heard his voice as if it came from another person.

"What..." It was thin and sounded like he was about to faint. He leaned back and his eyes searched hers. "Gwen – why – how... are you –"

She shook her head and wiped away a tear that had escaped and ran down her cheek. "I'm not positive. But the last two months, I missed..." she trailed off in embarrassment, and resumed, "And for a while I threw up in the mornings–"

"Why didn't you tell me?" Peter demanded. "I didn't know you were sick."

"I didn't want you to be mad," she whispered.

"That you were sick?"

"About the reason."

And before Peter knew what he was doing, he pulled Gwen into a tight hug, and resisted the urge to cough as she buried her face in his chest and sat silently by his side. He stroked her light hair away from her ear, and finally lifted her up so he could see her face which was red and streaked with tears.

"Did you really think I'd be mad?" He asked. Gwen nodded. "That I'd be mad at you?" She hesitated for a minute.

"That you'd be mad at yourself. You know – not being responsible, and all that."

She was right. A plethora of feelings tumbled around inside Peter and he was at a loss for words. He could just imagine what his Uncle Ben would say...

_"It's the guy's responsibility in these things. No matter what anyone else tries to tell you, it is up to you to be protected. If anything happens, it is your fault, and you have to take responsibility for the outcome."_

He met her gaze. "You are right. I- I don't really know what to think. But I'm not mad. If anything, I just feel kinda stupid." He dropped his head to his hands, and rubbed his eyes hard. "You sure you're not just playing a mean joke on me?"

Gwen made an astonished noise. "Peter, you know I would never –"

"I know, I know," he muttered. "I just – it's so cliche. One time... and then –"

He sat there in silence and Gwen folded arms across her chest, bowing her head so the passersby would not see her tears.

"Do you – do you want me to get it taken care of?" she managed at last, her voice thick with suppressed sobs. "Because I will. I don't want this to happen unless you are in it with me."

Peter lifted his head, his eyes red, and his face a little swollen. "I was in it with you from the beginning," he whispered. "I'm still with you in whatever happens."

They embraced, and Peter shut his eyes, a wave of exhaustion – emotional and physical washing over him. "Should we head back now?" he said quietly, feeling Gwen puff a deep breath into his hair.

"Yeah, I guess we should. I feel a lot better now that you know."

Peter stood and pulled her to her feet, grabbing her hand.

"Kiss?" he asked, and she answered on her tiptoes. When they finished, ignoring the pedestrians that went around them in the sidewalk, he met her gaze, his eyes welling up. A sob caught in Gwen's throat.

"Peter – don't..." she whispered as he buried his face in her neck and sobbed. "It's going to be okay, it's gonna be fine," Gwen soothed, rubbing her hands down his back. "Please don't do this." He pulled out of her embrace and broke into a watery smile.

"It's just – I'm gonna be a dad," he whispered. "That's so... amazing."

Gwen took a deep breath and looked away for a second. "You really think so?" she finally asked in a quaking voice.

He nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Special thanks and credit go to A-Box-of-Scraps for the plaque idea. Thanks a lot, Scraps!


	27. Peter and Gwen

The Team returned later that day with grave faces, and talked heatedly among each other while going about their preparations which looked to be for something serious. Peter knew they would tell him when he needed to know, even though he was tempted to feel a little out of it, since Clark had gone with them and was obviously in on the action.

He betook himself to one of the higher levels of the tower, and stood in a window-walled room which housed Tony's state-the-art bar and overlooked NYC. As he admired the superb view, he heard the door open behind him, and guessed correctly- Gwen. Peter nearly tripped on a plaque at his feet that was just barely raised from the glossy newly-replaced flooring. It read "A GOD WAS HULK SMASHED HERE." Peter chuckled ruefully to himself. He knew the feeling. Too late, he realized Gwen was talking to him. She tapped him on the shoulder, bringing him out of his reverie:

"Peter? What do you think?"

He shook his head to clear his foggy thoughts, and grinned at her. "What? I'm sorry, I didn't hear that."

"I said, do you want to come with me on a walk? We could go to the park for a little bit."

Peter noticed that there was something up with Gwen in the way that she said it, so he turned to face her. "What is it?"

She shook her head, her eyes wide. "Nothing. Why do you ask?"

"You're weird. We never go on walks."

"Well, I feel like it today. The fresh air will be nice – if you want to go, that is," she hedged.

Peter shrugged. "Sure, if that's what you want."

"You sure you're up to it?"

He laughed. "Stop worrying about me."

"Hey, JARVIS, we're headed out for a little while," Peter called as they crossed the lobby on the ground floor of the tower. "Just in case anyone's wondering what happened to us. We'll be back before dark."

"Very good, Mr. Parker."

Peter grimaced at Gwen, and then winced.

"What is it?" she asked, concerned.

"Headache," he replied. "It'll be okay though."

"You're just falling apart, aren't you," Gwen teased as they stepped forth onto the busy streets of New York City and took off in the direction of the park. "Tell me if you want to go back."

Peter considered. "I want to go back. I didn't say goodbye to everybody, and I'd kinda like to see Black Widow one more time."

Gwen rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean. We don't have to walk fast," she hurried to add as Peter's pace increased.

"Well, we did promise to be back before dark," Peter said. "If we want to be at the park for any time at all we'd better hurry, unless you just want to take it easy."

"I don't feel like walking fast," Gwen said quietly. "We'll get there when we get there."

Peter stopped and turned to face her. "Are you coming down with something too? What's wrong? Usually you're all for the brisk walking and I can barely keep up with you."

Gwen shook her head. "I – I don't want to wear you out."

Peter realized that he was probably annoying her so he dropped the topic and they made their way through the city, chatting at intervals, and just taking in the hustle and bustle around them. Finally, the inviting green of the park opened up before them, and they joined the other people strolling along the twisting sidewalks or sitting on blankets and benches. They reached a bench underneath a large planetree and Gwen took a seat, Peter following her example.

"So, what's this really about?" Peter's brown eyes met hers shining honest in the light of the setting sun. Gwen looked away, watching the passersby in the park, and letting her gaze linger on a couple holding hands as they walked in the auburn evening light.

"I'm not fooling you, am I," she said softly, making a sound similar to a laugh, even while her face was sober and her eyes were large with pent-up thoughts and feelings.

"Should you be?"

She shook her head. "No. But let's just hope that everybody else doesn't know me as well as you do."

Peter took her hand and kissed it, leaning in close to her, and reaching his arm around the back of the bench. "You wanna talk about it?"

"No," she laughed hoarsely, tucking her face under his chin. "But I'd better." She pulled out of his embrace and turned to face him on the bench. Peter's eyebrows lifted and he resisted the urge to smile at her serious behavior... whatever it was –

"Peter –" She met his eyes and took both his hands, and Peter's heart sank, as he thought – this is it, she is going to break up with me... my worst fear is finally –

Gwen looked away and took a deep breath, her hands shaking almost imperceptibly in his.

Peter took his hand away and quickly scratched his forehead before returning it, and saying in a low voice, "It's okay – I understand if you –"

"No – no..." Gwen shook her head vehemently, and when she stopped, Peter saw that her eyes were glowing through a veil of tears. "It's not that. It's–"

Peter leaned in and rested his forehead against hers, feeling her shake, and her voice drifted up to him in the cool evening breeze.

"I think I might be pregnant."

Peter froze, and he could practically feel her heart sink in her chest. He shut his eyes, and then heard his voice as if it came from another person.

"What..." It was thin and sounded like he was about to faint. He leaned back and his eyes searched hers. "Gwen – why – how... are you –"

She shook her head and wiped away a tear that had escaped and ran down her cheek. "I'm not positive. But the last two months, I missed..." she trailed off in embarrassment, and resumed, "And for a while I threw up in the mornings–"

"Why didn't you tell me?" Peter demanded. "I didn't know you were sick."

"I didn't want you to be mad," she whispered.

"That you were sick?"

"About the reason."

And before Peter knew what he was doing, he pulled Gwen into a tight hug, and resisted the urge to cough as she buried her face in his chest and sat silently by his side. He stroked her light hair away from her ear, and finally lifted her up so he could see her face which was red and streaked with tears.

"Did you really think I'd be mad?" He asked. Gwen nodded. "That I'd be mad at you?" She hesitated for a minute.

"That you'd be mad at yourself. You know – not being responsible, and all that."

She was right. A plethora of feelings tumbled around inside Peter and he was at a loss for words. He could just imagine what his Uncle Ben would say...

_"It's the guy's responsibility in these things. No matter what anyone else tries to tell you, it is up to you to be protected. If anything happens, it is your fault, and you have to take responsibility for the outcome."_

He met her gaze. "You are right. I- I don't really know what to think. But I'm not mad. If anything, I just feel kinda stupid." He dropped his head to his hands, and rubbed his eyes hard. "You sure you're not just playing a mean joke on me?"

Gwen made an astonished noise. "Peter, you know I would never –"

"I know, I know," he muttered. "I just – it's so cliche. One time... and then –"

He sat there in silence and Gwen folded arms across her chest, bowing her head so the passersby would not see her tears.

"Do you – do you want me to get it taken care of?" she managed at last, her voice thick with suppressed sobs. "Because I will. I don't want this to happen unless you are in it with me."

Peter lifted his head, his eyes red, and his face a little swollen. "I was in it with you from the beginning," he whispered. "I'm still with you in whatever happens."

They embraced, and Peter shut his eyes, a wave of exhaustion – emotional and physical washing over him. "Should we head back now?" he said quietly, feeling Gwen puff a deep breath into his hair.

"Yeah, I guess we should. I feel a lot better now that you know."

Peter stood and pulled her to her feet, grabbing her hand.

"Kiss?" he asked, and she answered on her tiptoes. When they finished, ignoring the pedestrians that went around them in the sidewalk, he met her gaze, his eyes welling up. A sob caught in Gwen's throat.

"Peter – don't..." she whispered as he buried his face in her neck and sobbed. "It's going to be okay, it's gonna be fine," Gwen soothed, rubbing her hands down his back. "Please don't do this." He pulled out of her embrace and broke into a watery smile.

"It's just – I'm gonna be a dad," he whispered. "That's so... amazing."

Gwen took a deep breath and looked away for a second. "You really think so?" she finally asked in a quaking voice.

He nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Special thanks and credit go to A-Box-of-Scraps for the plaque idea. Thanks a lot, Scraps!


	28. DNA

They decided to keep it a secret – for as long as they could. Gwen called her mom, and Peter called his Aunt May, and they took the news pretty well, knowing that Peter and Gwen planned on being married as soon as the Avengers project was over and Gwen finished her internship. But while Gwen began to feel better and better, Pepper cornering her and guessing the girl's secret one morning, causing her to blush and hide her face as Pepper pulled her into an joyous big-sisterly embrace and promised silence, Peter began to feel worse.

Early one morning he awoke to find himself so stiff that he could hardly move, and he realized with growing alarm that he couldn't feel his extremities at all. He called for Gwen through JARVIS, and she hurried into the room, her slightly protruding stomach visible under the thin camisole she wore with a pair of his p.j. pants. She dropped to her knees beside the bed, and pushed his hair back from his pale brow.

"Peter, what's wrong?" she asked in concern, stroking his forehead. It was clammy and hot.

"I don't know," he managed. "I can't feel anything, and I can hardly move."

"This is not normal," Gwen announced in a loud voice. "JARVIS, send for Bruce – I want him in on this. Peter, sweetie, why haven't you been telling anyone you still feel bad? No one knew."

"I don't feel bad, I feel terrible," he said with a slight smile. "It's probably nothing. You should go now, I don't want to get you sick, or anything."

Gwen shook her head. "If I haven't gotten it by now it's not catching. I don't want to leave you." Just then there was a knock on the door, and Gwen opened it to reveal Bruce, a robe hurriedly dumped on over his t-shirt and sleep shorts.

"Sorry to wake you up so early, Bruce, but something is seriously going on with Peter," Gwen said. "He needs to go the infirmary and have some tests run to see what in the world is going on."

Bruce blinked, kneeling beside the bed. "How long has this been going on?" he asked, feeling Peter's neck which was hot and his hands which were cold.

"A while now – about three months I guess."

_Since the Hulk attack_, Gwen was thinking, although she didn't say it aloud, but Peter was thinking, _Since that night we..._ But he wasn't in a very good position to say anything.

"Alright – let's get you down to the infirmary, Peter. Gwen – help me," Bruce instructed, grabbing Peter's arm and throwing it around his neck. Gwen grabbed his other arm and between them they half-carried, half-dragged Peter to the elevator.

"Your strength would be nice about now, if you could control it," Peter said in a hoarse voice as the doctor and his girlfriend sidestepped into the elevator. "I don't think Gwen should be –"

"I'm fine," Gwen cut him off. "Hang in there, I know this is uncomfortable."

"Seen worse," Peter said, letting his head droop forward as the elevator stopped and the doors opened. "Sorry, guys."

"Gwen – he's right, you shouldn't be carrying him. I wasn't thinking." Bruce gave her a serious look, and Gwen shut her eyes, wishing she'd thrown on a robe or something. "You know I'm right."

She nodded. "Can I come and see him later?"

Bruce quickly lifted Peter into his arms like a baby and said, "I'll have JARVIS let you know." Gwen watched as they disappeared into the infirmary and shut the door behind them. Then she went to update the rest of the Avengers on what was going on...

"You mean he just couldn't move?" Clark asked, looking in surprise at the tidily-dressed blonde girl before them. "That's not good. It could be poisoning of some kind..." he trailed off, seeing a sharp look from Steve.

"Not now. Bruce will get it sorted out," Steve assured Gwen, giving her a brave smile. "Are you worried about him?"

Gwen nodded. "A little. He said he thought it would be fine, but he always says that. Okay... so, more than a little."

"The kid's been puny for a while now, I noticed," Tony put in, drumming his fingers on the arm of the sofa. "I knew he was coming down with something."

"Thanks for telling us." Pepper folded her arms. "Maybe we could have gotten Bruce to look at him before this."

"He wouldn't let me tell," Gwen said quickly. "You know him."

"Everybody seems to think that just because Bruce has letters after his name and people call him Doctor that he's an M.D.," observed Clint. "Maybe we should get him some real medical attention."

"He did fine with me," Steve admitted. "I would have never known the difference."

"Yeah, medical knowledge has improved since the Dark Ages, Captain Kangaroo," Tony said. "Not that you'd remember. Bruce's actually pretty good. Remember Natasha?"

"That –" Clint said sharply, preventing further comments, "–was different."

Tony shrugged. "Go figure."

They all tried in various ways to distract Gwen, by telling her stories of their past exploits, by updating her on their next mission to go to Norway and try to fend off bio-warfare that was beginning to erupt due to cult followings people had started that all more or less went back to the Tesseract and Loki, and trying to get her to talk some herself: about her mom, her dad – that dead-ended – her brothers, and then, of course, they were back at Peter again.

"I'm gonna go check on him," Gwen murmured for the tenth time, and this time the Avengers didn't object.

As she left the room, Tony said, "Hey, JARVIS, tell Bruce he's got a visitor. Finish up what he's doing and make it look good." And the rest of the team eyed Tony in silent thanks...

"Peter..." Gwen sat down on the stool Bruce pulled up for her as the door shut behind the doctor, leaving the two alone. "Hey there, it's me."

Her heart broke to see him lying there on the infirmary's high bed which looked like much an examining table, covered only with a white sheet, and hooked up to every kind of tube and I.V. imaginable as a monitor on the wall continued to beep, scanning his bloodstream for a variety of different dysfunctions and anomalies.

His eyes slowly opened – they were murky brown, like looking into a still can of wood-stain. "Hi," he croaked, lifting a taped hand and putting it limply on her knee. "How are you?"

Gwen's eyes filled up as she took his inert hand and bowed her head over it, her shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs. At last she looked up.

"What's going on?" she whispered.

Peter swallowed painfully, his brow corrugated, and he looked at the ceiling. "Bruce wouldn't tell me. I've been in and out all morning."

"Unconscious?"

He nodded, and said almost inaudibly, "But I think I know."

"What?" Gwen clasped his hand tighter. "At least if they know what it is, then they can know where to start getting you well again. Did you tell Bruce?"

Peter nodded again. "But he said not to tell you."

Gwen's eyes went still. "Tell me."

He shook his head. "Not a chance. You'll freak out."

"Peter –" Her voice grew hard. "You'd better tell me."

"Don't threaten an invalid guy," he wheezed, giving a painful laugh. "No."

"One time you coaxed a terrible story out of me, and now this is payback. Please..." Gwen switched to pleading, her heart beating faster. "They might not let me back in to see you today."

"And by tomorrow they'll probably prove my theory wrong," Peter insisted in a quiet voice. "Just try to forget it, Gwen, really..."

She shook her head. "No. I want to know. I don't care –"

"Okay." His voice was light as a puppy's breath. "I was doing some research and it turns out that almost all male spiders die after mating, or only live for a little while after that, and I just thought that... it made sense."

Gwen's face blanched. "You are not a spider, Peter Parker –" she began, but broke off, pressing a hand to her mouth and choking back a sob.

"But I have a lot in my DNA, Bruce says..."

"You're not going to die," she whispered, squeezing his hand even harder. "What did Bruce say to this... stupid idea of yours?"

Peter smiled. "Not to tell you. It is stupid, right? But I got paranoid."

"What if this is my fault..." breathed Gwen, her face almost as pale as Peter's.

"Stop it. I don't feel like throwing you out the window again –"

He might have said more, but just then Bruce tapped on the door, and entered, viewing the screen, and freezing his features , trying to look impassive.

"Miss Stacy, I need to ask you to leave now," Bruce began, seeing from her face that Peter told her his hypothesis. He shook his head. "Don't worry. He's on a lot of medication, and might not know what he's saying."

Peter nodded, and gave her a small smile as Gwen rose, and looked back over her shoulder. He pressed his two middle fingers to his palm and stuck his thumb out, raising his eyebrows. "Yeah, don't listen to me. I love you, Gwen."

She didn't answer, but fled from the room, her heartbeat roaring in her ears as she ran.

They admitted him to the New York City Hospital that afternoon, and all the Avengers were with him long into the evening, "checking his progress," as they told Gwen. She expressed her desire to see him again, but Bruce told her that he was not stable, and it wasn't going to be good for her to see him that way. She lay on her bed as the sun set and her room grew darker and darker. Finally, she got up numbly, and switched on the light, wondering if she could stand the tension one moment longer when her phone rang. She leapt for it and answered quickly.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Gwen? This is Pepper," the voice on the other end said.

"Hi, Pepper. What's going on?"

In the oversized black cab in which all the Avengers were packed, driving through the late night traffic of N.Y.C, Pepper shut her eyes and exchanged a look with Tony, who returned it, sympathy in his gaze.

Pepper tried to keep her voice normal as she asked, not another sound in the cab, "Where are you, sweetie?"

"I'm in my room," Gwen's voice came back. Pepper nodded and groped for her next sentence, trying to catch Tony's gaze again, but he looked away.

Gwen hurried on. "Where are you guys? How's Peter?"

"We're on our way back," Pepper said slowly. "We'll be there soon."

"How is he?"

The rest of the team could hear her voice through Pepper's phone; Steve buried his face in his hands, Clint looked at the ceiling, his eyes red, and Clark sat in the corner, pale and silent, the back of his hand resting against the window.

"Sit down, okay?"

"I'm on my bed."

There was a long, painful pause, and Pepper took a deep breath, shutting her eyes. Her voice was soft.

"Gwen, honey – Peter didn't make it."

There was silence on the other end of the line, and after a long moment, Pepper said, "Gwen?"

A long shaking breath was heard, and she whispered, "What?"

Pepper didn't reply, knowing it was not a real question. Tony reached over and put his hand on Pepper's knee, and she covered his hand with her's.

"I'm so sorry," she said quietly as the sounds of deep shaking sobs came over the phone line. At last Gwen spoke.

"Was anyone with him? Were you all there?"

"Bruce was with him, sweetie."

"Then –" she choked, "tell him I said thanks."

Pepper's eyes filled with tears, and she said quietly, "Why don't you go out to a common area, so you're not all by yourself in your room. We'll be there in just a minute."

Gwen continued to take in deep gasping breaths and she managed, "I'd rather stay here."

Pepper sat in silence listening to the girl cry on the other end of the line, and nodded when Tony gestured for her to stay on the phone with Gwen.

"W-where are you guys?" Gwen said at last through her tears.

"We're almost there, sweetheart." Pepper's heart was breaking.

"Okay." There was a long pause again, and then Gwen's voice came, loud enough to be heard by everyone in the cab. "I didn't even get to say goodbye."

_Author's Note: Thank you to everybody who is actually still reading this, especially to those who take time to review! It is such an encouragement to me. For those of you who don't know, most of my writing is inspired by acting exercises which I do with my sister, in which we take a set of characters and impersonate them. This story is our version of the Avengers, as it was acted out._

_Our acting takes a bit of a skip at this point, seventeen years forward. Let me hear from you if I should write a sequel, and if you have any ideas for it. Here's what we have acted out so far : _

_Nova, Loki and Natasha's son, an unexplainably mixed-up youth runs away from his "parents" Ed and Cindy Barton when he deduces he must be adopted and makes it to NYC, hoping to find his secretive uncle Clint who has, unbeknownst to Natasha, been keeping up with the boy from a distance all his life._

_However, walking up to Stark Tower and telling them your uncle works there doesn't always cut it, he finds out; an old man (a shapeshifter) who calls himself Thanos finds him, promising to explain all his questions, school him further in his magical abilities, and make him great. The Chitauri are once again in the employment of the Jotuns, and the Laufey is desperate for an heir, the heir that Loki never could be. Laufey thinks he has found one in this son of his._

_Jotunheim is not the only realm aware of Nova's blood. Asgard also seeks to claim him, Loki being a lost cause, and Thor being lost in love with the mortal, Jane Foster, with whom he has been reunited. Nova, not knowing all of this, is drawn into the war of worlds and must face a devious master, a god mad with grief at his beloved's death, the father he never knew, the forces of SHEILD and an entire alien army at his command. And with only the help of a girl named Emma Stacey - the only person he comes to trust - who also has an unexplained past and raw abilities, will he triumph? Or is too much against him, like it was for Loki?_

_Let me hear from you! God bless._

_Until next time,_

_-Lady Viola_


	29. Epilogue

**Hello, everyone! Thank you so much for reading this, bless you if you are still with me. **

**I have decided to end the story here and begin a sequel, ether first few chapters of which are now up! It is called "Novasenna" - read the previous chapter's note for a reminder of what it is about in case you haven't guessed...**

**So, that being said, check it out! Tell me what you think! I'd love to hear the following from you, no matter when you are reading this story or "Novasenna", whether it's soon or twenty years from now:**

**-Thoughts on the characterizations**

**-Believability of dialogue **

**-Ideas or suggestions for future chapters or pairings**

**-Constructive criticism**

**-Favorite/least favorite aspects of the story**

**-General comments on what you think!**

**Thanks to all my reviewers, even though they are few... They are valued! And they are always looking to add more to their number.**

**God bless!**

**Lady Viola**


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